


Take A Life, Make a Life

by ForgottenDreamofFlames, Nuhmarika



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Autistic Dirk Strider, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Eating Disorders, Ectobiological Incest (Homestuck), M/M, Miscommunication, Parent/Child Incest, Roleplay Logs, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, Trans Dave Strider, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 63,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenDreamofFlames/pseuds/ForgottenDreamofFlames, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuhmarika/pseuds/Nuhmarika
Summary: Non sburb AU. Dirk can't keep living in the apartment in post-Houston anymore. He manages to send himself to an alternate reality, where he plans to take over that Dirk's life.Plot twist though: 16 year old Dave's there too.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Dirk Strider
Comments: 31
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ForgottenDreamofFlames writes Dave, Nuhmarika writes Dirk. Additional characters will be listed as it updates.

It turned out, it was actually relatively simple to get out of post-apocalypse Houston in the end.

Dirk has had everything in order for a couple of years, really. His sweet sixteen came and went, as did his twentieth; so to fuck with all the preparation he’d done for the game he’d thought they were going to play. Hoverboard? Vital for the game, but not so much so when he’s surrounded by water.

There wasn’t enough fuel to get to Roxy. Not even when he gathered it all, from his bots and Sawtooth and… It wasn’t enough. No way to get it sent to him either.

With Roxy… When Roxy, after she had… Well, Dirk did what he did best; he picked apart every gadget he had besides his sendificator, plucked the uranium out of his robo-parents (they had a sweet rap-battle as a fare-well and it was honestly as epic as it was emotional), pried open the sendificator enough to expand the box with the extra parts-  
Yeah, in some ways it was easier than expected.

It was easier than expected to kill this Dirk Strider, too.

He’d radiated smug asshole for one. Collar popped up, cap on his head, shades firm on his face. When Dirk had shown up, he’d looked… Well, not surprised, Dirk’s pretty sure he can’t make that expression himself, but definitely caught off guard.

The battle was quick and ruthless. This Dirk had muscles for days in a way that honestly made Dirk hella jealous, but he was slow. He’d obviously never tried battling with a shark, or a robot. And maybe he _was_ shocked, didn’t quite understand what was up.

All to Dirk’s advantage. A stealth-mission if he ever saw one, besides the fact that he’d been spotted.

Before the dude even realized what was going to happen, Dirk’s katana was in his hands, and then slit over the older Dirk’s throat. A gurgle, then a thud as he hit the ground. Dirk watched dispassionately the white polo-shirt soaked in red, saw the dude struggle, try to stop the bleeding. A stab to the temple fixed that relatively fast.

As the highest building in Houston, nobody should have seen the crime; that was Dirk’s calculations.  
But when he’d found the plastic bags and looked to the door towards the stairs, a tiny Dave Strider var staring at him.

Unmistakable, really. Same nose, same hair, same complexion. Scrawny, but so was his Dave, if not this much. The shades are round, his ears poking out just so.

He looks so small.

“…” Well, what the fuck is he supposed to say? He killed a man, and there is Dave, his Bro- or, his lil bro, his guesses, now…? Oh fuck. They got to live together in this timeline? What the fuck, what’s with his _luck_?

“I’m Dirk Strider.” Dirk looks down to the dead Strider, pursing his lips a little together, hands coming together in front of himself. “Same dude as this one. So I’m gonna be takin’ over. No hard feelings, right?”

God, the kid is gonna run away screaming. Murder probably isn’t the best first impression to make. He should have brought something cool from the future, a fish or something.

•

A _second_ Bro wasn’t what he anticipated when he’d opened the door up to the roof, and he briefly wonders if the last fall down the stairs knocked something loose in his skull and he would have to fess up to not taking the fall properly before he himself got another concussion, because like hell is he going to risk Bro actually dragging his comatose ass into the E.R.

When they start moving the differences are more apparent. No double vision, just the motions between them that were so quick they blurred. This freakish, funhouse mirror version of his older brother is somehow even faster and brutally efficient. He gets the feeling he would have stood about as good of a chance against his own Bro, if he had ever decided that he was sick enough of him. Dave didn’t think he’d want that kind of trouble though, not like this one. The bag of cheap take-out he was fetching for Bro from downstairs hits the cement with a styrofoam _crunch_.

He’s not processing the outcome, much less the words said in his direction. Dave is perfectly still as he waits for Bro to get up. He had to get up, even some doppelganger couldn’t get the drop on him so easily, this is probably just to make him get his guard down to take his legs out from under him while his eyes are on Dave. The weight in his stomach increases as it starts to get through to him what the placement of the sword meant. That doesn’t make it feel real. Those horrific _sounds_ Bro had made before- he can’t think about that right now. Bro is still there. A terrifyingly new one that he doesn’t know the rules of. If he were thinking straight and not frozen as he takes in the sight of his slaughtered brother’s form, he might not have so immediately accepted that this is still Bro. It doesn’t make sense, but he’s not thinking sensibly. It’s difficult to think at all.

He should draw his sword, have an epic battle to the death with this trespasser in vengeance for his fallen brother. Bro would- would have been proud of that, probably. He should run. Should do any number of things, scream and cry like a baby, or take down the fucker while he was speaking to Dave, or call for help, or see if there’s some miraculous way he can keep Bro alive long enough for someone to come.

What he does is utterly useless. It’s hard enough for him to drag some air into his lungs that “ _Bro…?_ ” comes out shaky and rougher than any word he’d spoken in his brother’s presence before. But he’s not really present now is he.

Dave doesn’t feel present either. He’s stuck in place with Bro’s still bleeding remains, a tremor settling into every muscle that it takes just to continue standing.

•

The little dude seems to be caught up in his own head. ’ _feelin’ with ya lil bro_ ', he thinks to himself, glancing down at the corpse of himself, then glancing around. It _is_ the highest building, but he probably should leave it to fry in the Houston sun for too long. The crows are eyeing the flesh hungrily. He thinks. If they’re anything like seagulls, they are.

“Yeah.” Dirk is feeling something, but it’s muted and odd. This is _Dave_ , the maker of SBaHJ, notorious rebeller, his _Bro_ , who kept him fed and alive, both debatably poorly, for his entire sad-shit life.

Dirk clenches his hands together a little firmer, then shakes them out in slight agitation. Nah, wrong. Not the same Dave, at least not experience-wise. But it _is_ someone who’s gonna be Dave in the future. Or.

Wow, Houston really is _really warm_ without sea all around it.

Seems like the kid isn’t faring much better. A different warmth fills in him; seems like the dude cares- that is, _cared_ for his… Caretaker? That’s sweet. Dirk takes a moment to search himself for remorse, but concludes that no, he still did what he felt he had to do.

So.

What the fuck does he do now? He wasn’t planning on … _Dave_.

“Dave,” the name feels weird on his tongue, “I…” Oh god, he doesn’t know what to say. Is there anything to say? He already told him what was up. “You should go back downstairs. I’ll be there in…” He can _hear_ how his voice lags and distorts oddly, a life of disuse morphing his speech, but he pretends it’s normal and looks down to the growing pool of blood. Life feels a little unreal right now, “Forty minutes.”

Should be enough to part the body and bag it up for now. He’ll captchalogue the blood, get it out of the cement floor. If not, Dirk is sure this Dirk had the same need for chemical cleaning. He’s kind of betting on it.

“…” Are you okay? Do you need anything? Watch out for the stairs, bro? He’s wanted to talk to Dave his whole life, gave up on it a long time ago; but right here, right now, he feels he can’t say anything.

“Go.”

•

He jerks ever so slightly at his name, finally ripping his gaze away from the mesmerizing way Bro’s blood was seeping into the hairline cracks in the roof. He was trying to remember the last time he’d seen blood that wasn’t his own. Nothing comes to mind. Nothing real at least.

God. New Bro, the smaller one, the living one. He’s looking right at Dave. He vividly imagines meeting the same fate of his brother. It would be even easier to kill Dave. Not even a fight.

It’s fitting how foreignly familiar he sounds. The voice is his brother’s, but it moves all wrong, tilts and even trails off the one time. Not-Bro is a twisted simulacrum of the original, poorly constructed yet still managing to best him somehow. Dave’s stomach is making a good effort to claw its way up his throat.

Dave doesn’t need telling twice. If Bro were alive, he’d at least be pleased with how fast he makes it down the stairs and into his room. He leaves the door unlocked as always, because really, if Bro wants in, there’s plenty of ways that would leave him in worse shape.

He doesn’t notice the small spatter of blood on his shirt until he’s been sitting in his open window a while, not quite coherent enough to really ask himself if he wants to run while Not-Bro is busy with… everything. Time passes quickly and he doesn’t feel petrified anymore at least.

No, he feels _ossified_. He’s still and his joints seem locked up and there’s a yawning hollow of shock and fear opening up in his center. He wants to believe this is a sick prank. He doesn’t though, despite his wishes. He simply sits in the window and watches the crows get up to their usual bullshit like the entire world hadn’t just been thrown onto its side.

So the other Bro didn’t want him dead too. Not immediately at least, or he would have done it where it was more convenient already. His stress frazzled mind has managed to catch on the way smaller Bro said _No hard feelings, right?_ Fear isn’t really a feeling, more of a failing, so he supposes not. Dave should still know better than to zone out when expecting someone.

•

Chop. Chop. _Chop_. The internet told him it was going to be wet and messy, and Dirk had anticipated it. It was more than decapitating and plucking a seagull, more than gutting the huge fish he managed to haul up to the platform.

But fucking hell, there’s so much _blood_. Dirk is careful to not get it all over himself, but he still wrinkles his nose. Shit and blood doesn’t smell nice at all, and as he works apart flesh and bone on the scorching roof, he feels himself start to stink of sweat to boot.

He nudges the last piece into the plastic bag and sighs through his nose. Good to part it up now, ready for it to dissolve in chemicals later.

Dirk considers just captchaloguing the bags, but figures that might actually be a bit too macabre for even his tastes. Instead, he flashsteps into the apartment, takes a look around (a lot of similar traps, more trash, loads of small differences to his own flat but close enough that he still feels at him). Up he- it- goes, to the little attic-space where he seemingly keeps his sowing equipment and an assortment of dildos. Nice. Rest in pieces, at least you’re gonna be in a place you’d have loved for a little while.

Dave has escaped into his room- well, he supposes it _is_ Dave’s room…? Which is perfect, cause he’s soaked to the elbows in slick red and blonde hair, and it’s pretty disgusting.

The bathroom also looks different, he realizes when he flashes in. It’s the same in shape, and has the essentials, but there’s… More. A stool Dave probably used as a kid, puppets hanging about all willy nilly, and the sink is cracked on the side, which he would never have let happen to his own sink. The showerhead is a little rusty too. What an asshole, Dirk probably could have fixed that in fifteen seconds flat.

Whatever. He pushes off his clothes and throws them in the hamper, which is suspiciously empty, and turns the shower on. Oh fuck, _nice_. This one has fresh water, so he washes off his hands quickly, then cups his hands up towards the stream and takes hungry gulps of water- it’s warm, and tastes of chemicals, but it’s _good_.

A quick lathering of shampoo, conditioner and a firm scrub with the shower gel, he feels a bit more like himself. He opts to grab a polo-shirt (it’s his after all), and tightens the belt of the black slacks firmly, folding up the hems of the pant; he’ll sow ’em up later for sure.

While this all happens, Dave’s blank little face is burning behind his retinas. He looked so small. He sounded so… He doesn’t know. Not happy, that’s for sure. Dirk wants to…

Well, he doesn’t know that either. Talk to him? Dave had only said one word, and in hindsight it wasn’t even to him, but it was still… God, he’d said _Bro_. Dirk needs it to happen again, there’s no way he can leave Dave out, send him somewhere else.

Dirk tries shuddering out the energy prickling over his skin, flaps it out of his fingertips, rakes his hands through his hair a couple of times. Ahh, is there-- yup, same brand and everything. He ran out of hairgel years ago back in his old flat, but styling his hair again feels amazing.

Oh shit, right, Dave. Who’s probably still kind of waiting for him.

Making sure he looks somewhat presentable, shades firm in place, he walks over and opens the door. Then he remembers, fuck, maybe he should knock like a human being. Closes the door, knocks.

“Dave.” Wow, still feels weird to say.

•

Dave hadn’t been sure what to expect in the way of notification that Not-Bro was down from the roof, but it sure wasn’t the guy just walking in before backtracking and _knocking_ , without even coming back in. What the fuck. Must be some new brand of psychological warfare here, get the drop on Dave while he’s still off balance, and a playful reversal of the typical order of the classic ‘I’m respecting your boundaries by knocking, but asserting my authority by coming in anyway’ type of nonsense. Not that there was much that ever necessitated Bro speak directly to him these days. He doesn’t savor the idea of that changing, not with how much worse this one is.

Then his name again. He hopes that not-jacked-Bro isn’t going to address him like that every time, or he’s going to need to get a nickname. Still. The surprise is done at least. He waits longer than he should before realizing that he was probably supposed to open the door for murder-Bro. Clearly the guy is a fan of toying with Dave too. Not surprising.

He stops short of the door, hand hovering above the knob as he braces himself to try and dodge whatever might be thrown his way, and if it’s a fakeout, to keep his fucking cool so maybe smaller-Bro wouldn’t feel the need to make up for lost training time to get him on _his_ level, because shit, whatever he was doing before had made real Bro look weak. That thought is promptly tossed somewhere he doesn’t need to consider it further, because he’s opening the door with no indication of the fear so strong that it made his fingers tingle, aside from the sweat beading along his brow. That could just be the open window though. It’s fine. Not-Bro won’t mind. Maybe.

“Sup.” His voice doesn’t even crack, let alone break, so he’s marking that one down as victory despite the slight strain at how the man now looks even more disgustingly similar to the one he knew. Should he have spoken? Scary-Bro might not have wanted an actual response, shit. Dave’s eyes are flicking around nervously, scanning for any hint of what the plan is.

•

Dirk feels a weird backwards as fuck pride blossom in him as he takes in Dave more seriously. Alert albeit stiff, voice calm, giving little away. That really _is_ how he’s supposed to act.

It was always hard to tell what was ironic and what was real of his Dave Strider’s media-personality, and he’d tried to follow his example as well as he could, but seeing another person- (this is the first person besides himself he’s met. The _first_ , he wants to… shake hands or something, this is unreal) seeing the way Dave slightly shits his weight from one foot to another…

It leaves Dirk both relieved yet tense as all fuck. He wants to rap, one of the ones he’s ripped off of Dave himself, he wants to – impress the little dude with his mediocre pronunciation, it’s _incredibly dumb_ , and he kind of wants to smack himself.

He needs to be _chill_. The kid just saw his real bro get killed by him, he doesn’t want to… Whatever it is Dirk wants, which he’s not even sure what is.

A weird silence settles between them, and Dirk feels it keenly since the ball is in his court. He doesn’t even know what the fuck he called on Dave for. He just… Felt it was important, that they did see each other after he parted his older self’s body. Should he, like apologize? Even though he’s not sorry? AR would–

Well, fuck AR. He shuts that thought up real quick.

“… sup.” Definitely wants to smack himself, hard in the face. He pushes the intense shame over himself somewhere in the far backs of his mind.

Another long silence. He brings his hands in front of himself again, clasps them over his diaphragm, twitches his shoulders up a little.

“… So. You know what’s up lil man, or do you want… deets?” He grimaces inwardly at his hesitation. Choosing between formal and informal is harder when he’s speaking.

•

Oh Jesus. He’s really digging into making this painfully drawn out. That doesn’t bode well. Dave notes the way his hands are pushed together again, like when he’d first addressed him on the roof, and funnily, it’s a simple difference of mannerism that forces into his head that Bro is _gone_. He’s not… sad, exactly. But he doesn’t have a clue where he himself is, what direction to face, nevermind what the next step is. With real Bro, he knew what kind of surprises were going to be waiting for him. And now that’s gone. His careful cultivation of cool could easily be nowhere near up to snuff, and maybe that’ll lead to him getting snuffed out instead. Clearly, original Bro wasn’t satisfactory to him. It tracks that Bro would be the one to dispose of Bro, because who else could possibly beat him?

It takes all Dave’s willpower not to wince when his breath hitches and nothing comes out the first time he tries opening his mouth, but he’s quick to pivot into clearing his throat. Smooth as butter flavored popcorn salt. “…Lay the deets on me dude, I’m so far out of the loop that it ain’t even on the horizon.” It’s incredibly difficult not to spiral into a long, drawn out rant with mixed metaphors, but he knows cool is quiet. Cool is keeping the aloud short and sweet and saving his nervous rambling for textual messages that people can simply scroll past without worry. He loses all mystique that is the pillar of being even slightly below room temp if half the shit he spills actually gets taken in.

He should have said he knows what’s up, fuck. He’ll just look worse if he backtracks now though.

Should he start up the dramatic pauses too? This guy sure seems fond of them, or maybe he wants to see how easily Dave can follow along. It makes sense that he’d want to know if Dave was halfway competent. Still, the moment has passed even for a long pause. One of his hands is still on the door like he’s leaning against it, and he doesn’t notice his own white-knuckle grip on it.

•

Oh, okay, so deets it is.

“I sent myself from another dimension cause I was stuck in post-apoc…” what a fucking painful word to pronounce, “apocalyptic Houston Texas, year 2432, human population 1. I’m taking over this Dirk Strider’s life starting approximately right the fuck now.”

Dirk almost tells Dave he didn’t know he was here, but reconsiders with a soft hum of consideration. Would that seem lame? Hey, I came to your universe that I didn’t know shit about and killed your bro. Wanna be friends? Definitely lame, scratch that off the record.

“From my sources, your previous Bro and I are… Identical.” So please love me. Haha, jk. “Besides age.” Uhh…

He goes through a tally of what he should be doing, what his plan was before Dave. Year 0, B.D.

Kill Dirk. Check. Go through his accounts, get integrated with his work, take over his businesses, get a steady income. Secure steady income of food, find Jane, Jake and Roxy, preferably. New side-quest: befriend one Dave Strider.

Sounds simple enough.

“… Where’s. My computer?” Dirk realizes nothing has connected to his glasses, and a pit that’s been in his gut these last months yawns open. Too early for an AR. Ok. Or maybe it’s just underdeveloped?

“… AR?”

•

So this is what Bro would have been like aged down a little. On one hand, this is absolutely batshit, off the wall insane, and he should be diving out the window before he loses his head in a couple different ways. On the other, it makes sense in an _incredibly_ fucked up way. Because shit, Bro is definitely the lone hero type, he’s the kind of guy that _would_ be the last man standing.

Yeah, Dave would use this many dramatic pauses in that kind of ultra-dramatic circumstance too. He’d be owed it, really. No wonder his Bro hadn’t been able to keep pace. Part of him relaxes marginally at the idea of alt-Bro taking over, because maybe that means he wouldn’t change things beyond cranking up the base level of badass (nevermind that he had no hope of reaching the first goal).

He nods in the direction of the shared computer a bit too quickly. “It’s over… there.” Dave is having difficulty figuring out what the hell was up with that stutter. He must be on some next level shit, no way Dave could decently mimic that without making it obvious what a goddamn rube he is in comparison. “Not sure what you mean by AR though. That some next dimension future thing?” God he hopes it is. If it’s not, he’s already tripping over himself even worse than he thought, and he’s not oblivious to the way his voice pitched up at the end.

•

The hole yawns open wider. He’s sure Dave would have known AR, Hal, if he was there. The dude won’t - wouldn’t- shut up.

“… yeah.”

He stalks over to the computer, clicking the mouse around unnecessarily to get it out of sleep-mode.

Fucking amateurish model. Old ass shit. He shortcuts into coding-mode and scrolls and feels marginally better; it’s modded heavily, and it’s freakishly tidy. Room for improvement, but this is some next-level shit considering the year. No AR. He pretends he doesn’t care. Already sucked into his new project, he hunches up as he usually does, bringing a leg up to the chair to get comfortable.

For a little while, he forces himself to focus on the contents of the computer, and the businesses; it’s all kind of automated, which Dirk was planning to make it anyways, and as a hobby it seems like this Dirk made porn AI’s to comment on his dubious puppet porn. He respects the drip and leaves it.

Still, he keeps glancing towards Dave. It’s an irresistible pull, as if his body-heat pulses towards him in magnetic waves, some real ABO trope shit that indicates his monkey-brain is going ‘me human, me wants physical contact’.

To distract himself he keeps on plodding through firewalls, entering passwords and mostly getting them right on the first try; same brain.

“… Do you…” Wow, he should stop starting sentences when he doesn’t know how to continue them. He pretends to be busy for a couple seconds, “tell me your current schedule.” Straight to the point, not overly polite. You could say he’s fucking nailing his first irl conversation. He hopes Dave doesn’t notice his obvious, painful lack of social skills. He kind of hopes this Dirk was just as bad, but he somehow doubts it: even if he turned up a recluse, he’d have to have had social interactions all his life. The nature vs. nurture debate he’s had with himself rears its ugly head, but he tries to ignore it. Surely, Dave would have reacted if they were too different.

… Right?

•

He doesn’t heave a sigh of of relief, because that’s the opposite of cool. The moment doesn’t last nearly long enough, because he can see that tiny movement of young-Bro’s head that felt as obvious as if he had stood up and fully faced Dave. What the hell does he want. To keep an eye on him? Measuring- no, no, this Bro didn’t have a Dave. He doesn’t know how old either one ~~is~~ was so there’s no real way for him to compare timelines. It doesn’t feel like something that’s supposed to make sense considering how far ahead he was.

He can’t just go back to holing up in his room when smaller-Bro so clearly has some sort of plan with him. He appreciates the boldness of so blatantly abandoning a sentence for Dave to wonder about. Make him really wait for it, then heel turns on it to giving him an order. “Right, yeah. Start from midnight, I’m almost in bed, y’know catchin’ up with the nerds online and making sure they get their fix of me so nobody starts sufferin’ withdrawals then I hit the sack until whenever unless it’s time for an early mornin’ Cal call and I run my ass up to the roof for the usual, see how long I hold up, and fuck that’s not gonna be long now- and then I clean myself up and get to school. Nine to five grind inched back a bit, call that the eight to four for maximum sufferin’, I fuck around and make sure I’m back before dark 'cause, uh.”

Would it be wrong of him to lie and try to make things cushier for himself? Maybe. He could guess how much this Bro, Dirk (weird to even think the name), knew, but if he misjudges? Yeah, he can’t risk that. “-cause that’s the rules and I’m not about t’ make you lay down the law I mean it’s standing way up there and laying a big motherfucker like that out takes some serious doin’ and I wouldn’t want you to crush any little guys under that kinda girth.” Ugh. He stops for a breath. “Then I do my thing and rinse repeat. Weekends are whatever.” Meaning other than strifes, it’s fend for yourself. He’s fine with that.

•

He memorizes the basic schedule of Dave and tucks it away for when it matters, blinking and hovering his hands over the keyboard. School. Oh shit, that’s a whole thing, isn’t it. High School probably? Wait, how old is he?

“How old are you?” Dirk repeats out loud to Dave, and keeps on typing. His mind is racing though, old chick-flicks info running in the background; parent meetings, seeing the principal when something goes wrong, picking up the kids after school… How much of this applies?

Dirk also notes that Dave is popular; that’s nice, and wholly expected. Dave Strider was famous, and everyone clamored for attention; it would be odd if things were different here.

It takes a moment for Dirk to realize that going to the roof most likely means strife, which makes sense since that’s where his Dirk was when he came here. He wonders when Dave gets the time to sleep, but figures he’s like Dirk himself and gets a wink in whenever he feels like it.

And once Dave gets really talking- he can _hear it_. He has a rhythm, a certain drone that’s incredibly recognizable and nigh impossible to mimic. Dirk feels his chest swell, and he rubs at his chest absentmindedly, his mind incessantly insisting to focus on the fact that _this is Dave this is Dave this is THE Dave_. He politely tells it to shut up.

“I need to know, because. School and shit. Am I gonna drive you…?” What day is it? He checks and sighs in relief; it’s Friday, as it was where he came from. Glad that’s the same.

He sits up, vague alarm making itself known; next objective; food. Vital. He knows there’s an abundance of it, but it still needs to be obtained, and … Frankly, going outside is a … fucking risk and a half that he can’t do right now. For reasons.

“And, do we have food?”

•

“Sixteen, and nah, I just take the city bus, got my big boy pass and everything.” Dave doesn’t think of inquiring about Bro-Lite’s age, because why the hell would that earn him any more info than a grunt? Even if this one is more chatty.

“Yeah. Or. We did, y-” You. _You didn’t do anything for me._ God. He’s fucking terrible, already letting not-Bro step into the big guy’s shoes like the laces just need a little tightening. He beats back the nausea to be dealt with later. “You uh. Left it on the roof I think. I dropped it.” Guilt twists hard in his stomach, because hell, those take-out places stuffed everything they could into those little boxes, he could have held up a good portion of his week on that. Maybe he could sneak back up? Even thinking about it, he knows he can’t. Bro might still be there and either way, littler-Bro already heard him spill the beans. He’s not going to just order a second round for them after Dave dropped the ball like that. “Sorry, was a lil’ distracted there, won’t happen again. Dunno where you keep your stash, seeing how I’m not authorized for that kind of top tier info, but I’m sure you’ll puzzle it out on your own quicker than everything else.”

He needs to get a grip, he’s getting too chatty, not casual enough. Dave leans against the wall with his thumbs hooked into his pockets. Classic cool guy pose right here. Maybe if he acts chill enough he might be able to weasel a couple bucks for ramen out of murder-Bro under the pretense of brotherly affection. Guy was probably lacking in that.

•

Sixteen. Same age as he was when he was supposed to start the game. How the turntables, huh.

“I saw.” The crows will have eaten it by now; he laments the loss. Real life burgers sounds fucking _crazy_ appetising? He thinks. He really wants to taste it.

Anxious at the thought of not knowing where food is, he stands and starts flashing around to his usual spots; he triggers a couple of traps while he’s at it, but honestly they’re a little weak. Also, the fridge is full of swords?? Which he also did in the future, but the fridge stopped working a long time ago, and this fridge now only has cool sw-- ah. Haha, good one.

He does find his stash of noodles, some stale moldy pizza under the couch, a bag of chips and a packet of Pez. He refrains from checking out Dave’s room for now, patting himself on the back for remembering personal space for half a second.

“Not much to go on. Noodles will last for three days tops between us.” He puts down the change he’s found around the flat, sitting down crosslegged in front of his food-presentation like a war-lord, and pushes it towards Dave’s feet, looking up to him. “I counted twenty-eight bucks and fifty cents, barring whatever is in the safe upstairs. What will it give us?”

•

Dave freezes in place, letting young-Bro do his thing. Right. He still needs to get a feel for the lay of the land, he isn’t setting off the traps to showcase how easy they are to avoid the consequences of to make a point to Dave. Probably. “Between us?” Shut up, don’t question Bro. Obviously he means it in the literal sense, it’s between their physical bodies, nothing more. Wordplay.

“Uh. I mean I dunno what you usually get yourself, but I usually go for bulk instant if I scrape up enough at once.” That much could last him a while, but he’s not about to get greedy and assume he can get half. He knows damn well that he’s old enough to support himself. Couple cheap commissions online and he’s set for the month when he sneaks in with the kids getting free breakfast. Yeah, he has to get up earlier, but that’s an entire meal and he can save the apple juice for when his blood sugar is about to crash and burn. It’s a staple.

Summers are harder.

“I mean. You got your credit card stuff, right? I think Bro just had cash around so he could tip people without taxes.” Because fuck that. The delivery people that can tolerate them deserve the option to have some money under the table.

•

“Not really what I asked.” But it does remind Dirk to get up on the chair again to check if he had any online accounts with creditcard-numbers. And-- ah, shit. Was the wallets in one of the plastic bags now…? He was sure he checked for important shit…

Ok, so it turns out they actually have quite a lot of bank, according to the zeros. He’s not quite sure why they’re even in this flat; but of course, he wouldn’t want to leave this place either, knowing this, so. Point past-Dirk.

“We need food _now._ Dunno where the wallet is; see, _credit card_. Probably stashed away, not gonna ransack the place right now. 28$ gives us a … burger and a soda each, yeah?” It's a guess; hoping he’s not way off, he staves off the urge to ask if they can get the whole damned menu to taste.

He sits back down on the floor and breaks off a slice of pizza with a disconcerting _crunch_. It smells… dry and kind of bad. He’d probably be able to force it down in a pinch, but he’s pretty sure a pizza is not supposed to smell like that (and if it is, why the hell is it that popular?).

“Also, noodles only diet gives you scurvy, man.” A legit worry in his books.

•

He fights the urge to flinch at Dirk’s tone and instead takes his hands out of his pockets in case he’s about to get sent back up to the roof already. Jesus, the guy sounds pissed. Bro didn’t normally make him feel this stupid. Missing any aspect of him is unexpected. “I mean I don’t have to eat right now, I already ate.” He’d traded this novelty pen he’d found on the hallway for someone’s second slice of pizza when they were full. Absolute score.

…scurvy? Dave knows what it is, but there’s more than enough fruit cups/citric acid in various sodas to make up for his less than ideal diet. Weirder that mini-Bro didn’t trust he couldn’t manage that shit on his own. Then again, he did drop perfectly good food on the floor like a dipshit. “But yeah I guess alternate dimension inflation is a bitch and a half to account for like me walking into some soda jerk’s place and slapping down a dollar bill for a shake and then they pour me out five gallons of the stuff and I have to sit there and pretend that’s exactly the amount I wanted nevermind that it’ll be-” He really, really needs to get a grip. Dave’s heart is racing and if he’s not real careful, his breathing is going to pick up too.

“Yeah. That’d cover it from most places.” God, he does not want not-Bro to dare him to eat that nasty ass pizza corpse.

•

A bit butthurt that Dave doesn’t want to eat with him, he nods thoughtfully, eyeing the bank-accounts on screen with a slightly pursed lip. So what he’s hearing from Dave’s adorable babble is that he overestimated that a whole fucking bunch. Fine, that’s good, if a bit embarrassing. Man, hearing him talk is like… Watching anime without subtitles, he goes so _fast_ he can barely keep it up.

His Dave’s videos almost always had subtitles. His own personal anime, and a good way for learning the English alphabet.

“Good.” Knowing that a burger is imminent makes his shoulders lower a little.

He’s stuck for a minute; in his plans, he would use google religiously to help him find the way from place to place. It’s an easy search, and he’s been on google-map trips from pre-HIC frequently enough to find his way. But…

Dave is right there. A local, well versed in hamburger-hunting. It saves time, _and_ it gives him time with Dave, so …

“We’re getting the burgers now.” It’s decided. He walks over towards the entrance, stuffing his naked feet into the shoes that are a bit too big for him. Serves him right for getting his own shoes blood-soaked. “… You gotta be my guide for the moment, lil dude. Shit is different here.” An understatement if he ever made one.

•

He stares, not understanding for a few moments what murder-Bro meant by that. Not delivery? It’s hard to recall the last time he saw Bro go out for something, because Bro has his own schedule. He gets everything on his own time and he doesn’t need Dave being nosey about how he spends it. His shoes are on, of course, he’s not kicking those off until he’s already in bed because otherwise he’s going to break something landing too hard when he forgets to tuck and roll like a functional human being.

Okay, he knows that’s a little harsh, but most people have the excuse of virtually zero training; he’s had _Bro_ all his life. He should know this stuff by now.

Dave pushes away from the wall and approaches, from the reasonable distance of minimum three arms lengths, because that might give him a good half second to see if he can dodge. This version of Bro is weird, and that’s really saying something. “No problem, what are you in the mood for? We got Wendy’s, Burger King, McDonald’s, and about five dozen artisanal places that charge out the ass.” He can’t approach the door with not-Bro _right there_ , it’d be asking the guy to see how quick Dave could move, so he just stands there and waits for Bro to go first. Honestly, he’s pretty proud of how he kept it together when littler-Bro was right outside his door like it was nothing. Nightmare fuel.

•

Fifty choices is not what Dirk needs right now. He’s heard about all the brands but they honestly tell him fucking nothing. It’s the same as Dave choosing between Ye old Meadhouse and The Old Witches Brew; sure, they might have been the _shit_ back in the medieval ages, and he might have heard about the disputes between them, but that doesn’t actually tell him which has the tastiest burgers.

Or which one is closest.

For a moment, Dirk wonders if he should order delivery, but the thought of talking to a human living being that is not family, Roxy, Jane or Jake makes his throat go dry. He’ll get Dave to order, even though it makes him feel infantile.

Dirk walks out of the flat, and gets a sudden sense of vertigo; the flat was so _similar_ to his own that he somehow… Kind of expected the steel rods that usually greeted him, the gust of salty wind, the drop down to the platform closest to the sea. But there’s flooring. A hallway. _Stairs_. Fucking warned you, bro, says no-one.

He gently places a hand on the wall, and keeps it there as he walks towards the elevator. He wants to heed the warning of his idol’s comic, but sees the elevator is out of use; so they take the stairs after all.

It doesn’t hit him until he almost crashes into someone on the third-floor that _other people_ live here. He feels himself go slack-jawed for a moment, taking in the elderly man who scoffs and says something that’s most likely insulting in his direction before moving up the stairs. That was a human, living being.

Outside, there’s going to be more human beings. And. And they’ll… If he wanted to , he could… talk to them. Interact with them.

It fills him with confusing dread.

Even though he sees Dave hover at his peripheral, he can’t quite make himself go down the next set of stairs just yet. He _knew_ , intellectually, that of course there’d be people. That was the _whole point_. But somehow, seeing someone random, feeling that soft, frail shoulder bust into his arm, made it horrifyingly real in a way everything before now didn’t.

“haha…” He brushes a hand over his arm where they bumped, then finally takes a step, going slow down the stairs. The first floor has seven people there in total, including the one seemingly guarding the entrance or whatever the fuck. He looks incompetent.

Determined not to look like a pussy ass bitch, he glances to Dave before soldiering on, going through the exit and looking around. Every instinct in him is telling him to get the fuck back inside. There’s- _hundreds of people_ _. Old and young, even a kid, there’s a dog down the street- and the _noise_. It’s fucking awful. It sounded loud on the roof, but that was muted, it seems. Here, he can hear hundred of cars roar by, the murmur of people-.

Only seeing Dave looking at him expectantly keeps him from going back inside.

“Just take me to your favourite place, dude.” in his shock, his tenuous grasp on the Texan accept drops; he doesn’t even notice.

•

Something is seriously wrong and he’s having a hard time seeing what the problem is. Is the man drunk?? Not-Bro is in fact, not Bro, not his Bro, but this is just bizarre. It’s like every step away from the apartment is another way that the two diverge and he seems less and less like a smaller, more agile and erratic Bro, and more like someone entirely unlike the person that shamelessly cut down his brother on the roof hardly an hour ago. That man was ice cold and composed as always, this one can’t seem to control his own face and glanced at _Dave_ for reassurance so openly. That can’t be right.

“Uh.” The idea of just launching off down the street and letting murder-Bro pull the classic time traveler blunder of stepping in front of some speeding automotives out of sheer ignorance does occur to him, but. He doesn’t think he could handle standing by while Bro dies again. It’s not like he can manage any of Bro’s shit anyway, he’s legally locked off from his work and has zero intention of taking it over to pay the bills, and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t get into the bank accounts until well after missed rent. He kind of needs the internet.

Tiny-Bro’s fucking. Nervous laughter. The sudden vocal change. This isn’t right. He doesn’t know how to ask if he needs a breather, because it’s _Bro_ , some version of him, Dave would be putting himself on the top of his shit list if he implied that it wasn’t anything but completely under control. He’s not supposed to doubt Bro. All that in combination with the sudden vocal difference has him raising eyebrows above the frames of his aviators. “Don’t have one,” he lies with startling smoothness.

The college kids working the cafe he likes to hit up sneak him old croissants and let him mooch off the wifi longer than they should, because they have this idea that he’s some battered kid from a troubled home, and he isn’t about to burst that bubble and ruin the thing he has going with those stale bakery goods. It wouldn’t do to have someone as cool as Bro show up with him.

Plus, if he needs a break, he’s not going to go somewhere murder-Bro knows he likes. Kinda defeats the point. “How about the closest.” With all the emotionality practically rolling off not-Bro in comparison to his normal self, Dave finds himself holding hard enough to the mask of calm hard enough for the both of them. At least he hopes so anyway.

•

Dirk thinks personally that that’s _bullshit_ , cause _his_ Dave had a favourite spot to eat. But he quells down that spike of irritation, cause snapping at lil Dave would be hella uncool.

And honestly, closest sounds best. People are _looking_ at him as they walk past, like they know he just killed a man and lived his life inside a 30 square meters flat, and their gazes prickles against his skin.

He simply nods, and lets Dave bring them along to whatever Dave considers the ‘closest’. Nervous that he’ll bump into someone else- (he _still_ feels the warmth of that old guy’s shoulder, what the fuck) he keeps his arms tucked up to his sides, forcing his posture straight. Fair enough that it’s not the most natural-looking gait, but it seems like he’s got his shit somewhat together. He really feels like flashstepping, but it doesn’t seem like that’s on the menu, since Dave is walking normally.

Sweat beads on his forehead, and he’d like to blame the heat but he knows that’s not it either. He feels vaguely ill as they step into Dave’s chosen establishment, a shock going through him as the temperature drops significantly.

Ah. Air-conditioning.

Even in here, an enclosed space, there’s people. Sitting, standing in line, behind the counter. Everyone’s talking loudly, and it smells quite strong here; burnt flesh and something… spicy? Maybe.

Ok, he’s actually being fucking ridiculous. He can handle being around _people_. That’s what he’s here for, to live the life he never could back there. He would eventually have to get used to crowds, white noise and dumb people looking him up for whatever reason, and it starts right here, right the fuck now.

“… I’ll take a seat.” He sees one conveniently hidden away against a corner, which should be a good start, “get your usual times two. Orange soda.” And he flashes to the available booth, steepling his hands together and watching Dave expectantly.

He hates it here.

•

It’s not quite dirt cheap fast food, but murder-Bro was looking _rough_ and Dave had no fucking clue what he would do if the dude fainted dead away because of time shock or whatever. It’s not packed, and the ambient music isn’t too bad, so it should be fine. Probably anything was good to mini-Bro after the fucking apocalypse. Still bizarre to consider. He wonders what caused it. Zombies, aliens, nuclear war? Could be anything. Or maybe the species just petered out due to climate change. That would be fucked.

Dave stands where he had been when not-Bro flashes away, having to take a solid few moments to work through the fact that yeah, he just might be more competent than the fella when it comes to present day things. Then he’s walking over to the table to clear his throat and lean against it slightly. “I’d love to get right on that, but this ain’t the type of place where you pay after the meal. Kinda need that cash Bro.” …he doesn’t remember if tiny-Bro even brought the money or not after laying it out. Fuck. He probably did.

Should he start worrying about tiny-Bro just keeling over from the common cold? He’s read about isolated populations being decimated by ill advised contact with everyone carrying all those new germs their body doesn’t know how to handle. Hopefully this isn’t the first signs of that kicking in and fogging up the man’s brain.

•

Dirk is an inch away from burying his face in his hands. It feels hot. What a fucking blunder. He _knows_ how transactions go, so why the fuck did he forget it now?

He digs his and into his pant-pocket and puts the money onto the table, leaning back against the cushioned back of his seat. “Right. Not a five star restaurant exactly.” Not that he’d fucking know what that would have even entailed. He’d make even more of an ass of himself if it were.

Dave was pretty fucking magnanimous for giving him an out like that though. Or was he being rude shit? Hard to tell; good on him.

Someone’s talking about a show he vaguely remembers the title of a couple of boots to the left, and it’s hella distracting. Could they please shut up? The man’s voice is grating and kind of high-pitched, and he laughs loudly in a way that makes Dirk’s ears ring. He taps a finger against the table rhythmically.

Is Dave waiting for something? He makes a little shooing move with his free hand that he’s seen in a romcom once, then looks out the window… for a moment, then he looks to a wall. Jesus _fuck_ there’s people everywhere. An attack could come from _anywhere_. He feels the need to summon his sword, but knows logically that nobody knows _or_ cares about what he’s doing.

When Dave walks back to stand in line, he repeats the periodic table in his head to distract himself. Dave’s posture is a little different than he thought it would be. Maybe he’ll grow into it? He looks back to Dirk as if he thinks he’s gonna melt to the floor and through it if he doesn’t keep an eye on him. He never thought he’d let the first impression he’d have on Dave Strider to be that he’s a blithering idiot who doesn’t know how fast-food chains work, but here we are, laughing it all up like it’s a 90’s show.

Just a decade off, really.

•

This is insane. Tiny-Bro _has_ to be testing him, no way the hyper-competent, damn near godlike man myth and wonder is seriously this agitated, even urging Dave on when he’d hesitates to leave not-Bro in place. What if he turns away and the fucker just disappears, and he’s forced to hunt him down in some major league level fuckery? Generally nonsense was kept to the apartment, and the most active of it on the roof because they’re civilized people that aren’t about to put an elbow through the TV because their balance got knocked of by a stray puppet. RIP old glass fronted TV. You will be missed, static and all.

Slipping the cash into his pocket, he gets in line and carefully arranges himself so it looks at though he’s examining the menu idly. And he is, he’s just also glancing at the young-Bro every so often to make sure he isn’t about to go into zombie killing mode and lop someone’s head off. What the hell does the guy even eat. Future food was probably all gastro-pubs with the fake caviar stuff so some greasy burgers (even these admittedly higher tier ones with home-fries and more meat than preservatives, not something he can safely divide into two or three meals except for the fries), so it really shouldn’t matter what he gets. Small-Bro just wants orange soda.

Thankfully, they aren’t out. The standard machine is busted, so he just gets a nice glass bottle of the stuff with some old timey branding on it. Score for vaguely hipster joints and the fact that he’s not paying, because Christ. He could have stretched that cost out over a few days. Murder-Bro wanted it though, and he’s not about to rain on that parade. He gets himself some ice water because fuck yes, free ice. Can’t get water that cold from the tap.

Taking the receipt, he sets their drinks down on the table and sits down across from Bro to wait for their order to get called. The remaining change (too little) is slid back over to not-Bro. “It’ll be a couple minutes here.”

•

That is one fancy ass bottle of orange soda.

Unable to help himself, he brings out his phone and snaps a shot, almost automatically sending it to three well-used pesterchums. He saves it instead and recaptchalogues it. Roxy would have found it hilarious.

“The fuck is ‘fast’ all about then, damn.” His voice comes out as deadpan, and he winces inwardly. He never did manage to nail down the tone for sarcasm. Text-form usually helps him out.

Forgetting the change entirely he grabs the soda, his lips twitch as the cold shoots up his arm; it’s so cold it’s already sweating. It looks like it comes from some choice hipster commercial.

Taking a swig, he grimaces and sets it down quickly, belatedly realizing this is his first encounter with not-flat-soda. The bubbles are almost salty in his mouth, and when he swallows it doesn’t go away. He gives off a small cough, eyes watering. It’s downright tickling his _nose_ , Jesus-

And then it’s gone. He reads the back of the label carefully, taking some pleasure in seeing the differences from his own soda-cocktail of chemicals. “ugh.” But a small smile is hiding in the corner of his mouth, and he takes another, slower sip. He can taste the orange better now.

Quick to acclimate, Dirk takes a larger sip, leaning back in his seat again. Noting Dave’s firm gaze on him, he shrugs a little self-consciously. “No bubbles in my future-soda.”

•

Even Dave can’t help the way his eyebrows twitch upwards at little-Bro just shamelessly getting a picture of the funky soda. Did this one like photography? He abruptly squashes down the urge to reach out and get young-Bro to take it from a more interesting angle than head on, because that would be new levels of uncool even for him. The guy probably just documented shit religiously, like some collector of human knowledge in a post-people world. Or he was just tracking his diet.

Followed by the reaction to the actual soda, Dave leans back in his seat. Right. Soda would be bizarre as hell. Dave is the weird one here for being weirded out by other-Bro’s reaction, how he damn near grinned in Bro terms. After all, Dave would probably crack a smile if he had his first decent soda in years too. “What, like it fell out of style for being vaguely unhealthy in some way we can’t even comprehend yet, like eatin’ off uranium glass because oh fuck yeah this shit glows, the tingling is a sign of quality.”

The sheer amount of expressiveness in the little gestures like the quirk of his lips (which unfairly manage to look even nicer when they’re not pressed into a flat line) or how he’d tapped his finger on the table has Dave off kilter. Maybe he was more put off by the way Bro had been finished off so easily than Dave had though- even if it was a mercy killing, it would mess him up pretty badly to do that to an older version of himself, that’s for sure.

He belatedly realizes that he hadn’t responded to the initial statement and shrugs like he isn’t taking it as an error in his choice of eateries. The guy had made it clear he wanted to eat _now_ , he should’ve walked them down the block to grab something from under the gas-station heat lamp. Murder-Bro. “Mid level stuff, ain’t like we’ll be waiting an hour like some places. Ten minutes tops. Gotta get those buns toasty.”

When had he last been in Bro’s presence this long? When he was in the single digits? It’s getting harder to suppress his normal fidgeting to an acceptable level and he’s glad the table hides the way he’s tugging on the stray strings on his jeans. He should cut those before he makes it worse.

•

An amused huff of breath leaves Dirk, something in him relaxing; yeah. That’s what he wants- just… Dumb rambling. Easy conversation. With Dave. Who is his bro.

“You got some funny thoughts about the future, dude.” He swirls the soda in the bottle, looking at it slosh around. It seems a little thinner than his own. “Though you got uranium bein’ valuable right.” too right. Couldn’t even get to Roxy with what he had. Fucking invaluable. “Wouldn’t drink it though.”

Again, his gaze slides over to the boy in front of him, his eyes taking in every freckle, every hair out of sorts. He has some scarring on his hands that pretty much matches his own. Sword-fighter. He feels that weird pride again.

“Nah, it’s fine. 's long as we get it.” he keeps tapping his finger against the table, changing his rhythm every now and then. He freezes for a split second when he hears a crash from the kitchen, but nobody notices so he keeps it going. Buns. Wheat. He’s concerned for his stomach for a split second, but decides fuck it; if a man can’t have his first burger in his tentative twenties, when the fuck can he? He’s gonna enjoy the _fuck_ out of it.

When the burgers arrives, the portion is massive. His stomach decides this is a great idea and gives out a whining growl. It all smells… Well, fucking amazing. Seagull’s got nothing on this shit. There’s about twenty scents mixed into one big thing, and the serving of fries is a little intimidating. American sizes, he remembers vaguely. He ignores the woman who brings it entirely.

He can’t help himself. He pokes the bun. It’s toasty, like Dave said.

Holy shit. How is he even gonna get a good grip on this? He mimics the best he can from looking at the people around him and takes a small bite. It’s hot. Flavour explodes in his mouth and burns in the back of it, but not in a horrible way. His tongue smarts.

He sets the burger down, a conflicted look on his face as he chews. It’s sloppy as well, sauce has already poured out from the back. Ew.

He grabs a napkin and cleans his fingers, breathing out through his nose. Holy fuck, but it’s… He’s having his first _burger_ , and it’s with his bro.

Don’t fucking cry.

Swallow.

“… Not half bad.”

•

Dave doesn’t exactly relax at the reassurance. The situation is too strange and that’s just another topping to the buffet of freakishness. It’s downright painful how much not-Bro is handling a burger like it might attack him. Eyeing him, Dave samples a fry to allow himself a taste of what they’d be like still fresh, which is nice and hot and greasy. Score. Those will reheat like nothing else.

A few gulps of ice water to help fill out as per the usual, and because hydration is hella important in Texan heat when you wear long sleeves and pants on the regular, then he’s digging in. It’s a good excuse to not really have to talk for a little while, because something about younger-Bro makes him want to fill the silence between them in a way his brother never had. It’s supposed to be unbroken, not filled with meaningless chatter for the sake of it.

After a few bites of the burger that is admittedly far better than his standard fare, patty thicker than slice of cardboard and not shorting on the veggies or sauce, he gives a slight nod and licks a bit of salt from his fingers. He has a tongue piercing that wasn’t strictly signed off on, but it really is amazing what you can trade for among high schoolers. All he had to do is get his hands on the jewelry and skip class at the right time for the kid to practice on him in the bathroom, then swear his silence, which is a lot more easily done when speaking fucking hurts for a while. Bro, of course, didn’t give a shit as far as he could tell. He’s pretty sure it’s cool so he had no reason to hide it. “Mhm. Almost worth having to wait more than thirty seconds.”

Somehow, it’s a joy watching Dave demolish his own burger. He has infinitely more finesse in how he handles it; a graceless grace that keeps his face clean but his hands sloppy, but it’s a good trade-off. He seems to be enjoying it.

Dirk sees a shimmer of silver in Dave’s mouth, but doesn’t think much of it; he tried getting a few piercings himself, but most of them ended up getting infected, so he stopped after a while. Seems his skin is sensitive or some shit. And tongue is too damn risky. If his admiration for the little dude could go any higher, it would.

He only gets a dismal half-way into his burger before his stomach protests, his mouth aching from the onslaught of salt, spices and unfamiliar fat, and he takes a disappointed sip of soda and leans back. He’d love nothing more than to stuff the whole thing in his mouth and life with the aftermath, but the people surrounding them makes him too on edge. He’d be slow and distracted. And anyways, that’s what doggie-bags are for.

Dave is almost done with his glass of ice water.

“Why aren’t you havin’ apple juice though?” It jumps out of him, and he takes another chip and chews to shut himself up. It’s just- why the fuck not, right? Dave and apples equals love, everybody and their mother knows that.

•

The burger wouldn’t exactly hold up in his room; now a McDonald’s, that thing could withstand a furnace and come out with nary an odd taste, but this one isn’t hermetically sealed by plasticky cheese. Technically, he knows that if it were in the fridge it would probably last a while longer, but it’s in the same distant way that he knows that some people have actual dishware instead of the refuse from meals past. Not like the sink was open for washing things in anyway, and like hell was he about to mess around with the fireworks. He’s not even sure the dishwasher is hooked up to water.

So naturally, he’s going to eat this burger even if it hurts him; he’s regretting how thoughtlessly he followed his normal water habits. His stomach aches, and he’ll need to lay down, but at least the final fourth shouldn’t get too gnarly by the time midnight hunger rolls around, so long as he keeps it covered and away from good air circulation. Better soggy than crusty.

His belt feels a little tight with how securely he usually has his ill-fitting pants on, and its an odd sensation. Reminds him of the time someone had lined up a gallon’s worth of milk cartons a day from expiration and offer ten dollars to whoever could chug it all without puking. Dave had gotten halfway before he hit a sour one.

“Uh.” How the fuck does not-Bro know anything about him. He must have seen the smaller stash under Dave’s bed when he was having a look around. “Not sure a joint like this offers juice past kiddies’ OJ in the AM, and.” And what. What does he say. He takes a tiny sip of water try to calm his rebelling organs. “It’d be a waste to have it with a meal y’know, supposed to be savored untainted and all that. Even if they did have AJ they’d probably do some nonsense like diluting it with ice when that’s about thirty kinds of wrong. Can’t just water it down because I want to take my sweet time.” The ice tinkles against glass as he shifts the cup around in his hand. It’s not stopping him from sweating, which is dumb. The building can’t be above seventy degrees.

•

“A purist huh. I can respect that.” Personally, he’d have orange-anything _as_ a last meal, but he can dig the commitment.

He notices Dave sweating. The meal does seem like a bit much for his small-ish body, especially since Dirk himself only got through half of it. Or is it just stress? Fuck knows Dirk’s stomach is probably the size of a pebble right now.

“I’m thinkin’ a doggie-bag. ‘m movin’ the ‘cool swords’ outta the fridge when we get home. The pun is nice and shit, but the thing actually works, so.” He’s basically saying fuck whatever the previous Bro said, and hopes Dave won’t cuss him out for it or whatever. He’s gonna push a lot of buttons stepping all over their sacred brotherhood he’s sure, but it’s an inevitability.

And he’s the older bro now, so he’s gotta make some tough decisions. That includes ruining a good pun.

Yet another crash from the kitchen, and Dirk knocks on the table and does a quiet little whistle, his neck twitching a little. The noise is hella grating, all the people around him is distracting, and the smell is becoming a bit too much for him, despite the wonderfulness of easy to obtain food.

“Kapish?”

•

…is that what the thing with the swords had actually been about. A fucking _joke_. His eye twitches and yet again he finds himself fiercely glad of the shield his sunglasses provide. Maybe young-Bro didn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe he was exactly right. Bro loved a good visual pun, assuming he’d interpreted the man’s humor at least somewhat correctly. What the hell did the cherry bombs in the ice dispenser mean then.

“Yeah, box it up t’ go, already planning on it Bromine.” He’s deep enough in thought that he actually flinches when Dirk raps his knuckles on the table, hands bracing on the seat like he’s ready to launch himself out of it. But that’s ridiculous and the tips of his ears go pink at how embarrassing it is. It’s not like they’re going to strife in public and give out a free show. He shoves another bite in his mouth as if he’s just eager to finish.

•

Dirk might be blind as a bat when it comes to subtle body-language, but this one he knows from his own experience. Not nice to be jolted into survival mode. “Sorry, dude. Reflex.” The question arises in him why Dave would have that fight or flight without drones coming at him, but supposes there’s dangers in this universe as well. Or maybe he’s fucked up cause Dirk killed his bro. He’d be jumpy too.

Still, Dave called him _bromine_. Brother of mine. His _bro_.

Basking in it for a long while, he realizes he might… Have to ask someone for a bag. Ok. Yeah, no problem, another milestone about to fucking happen. Meet someone new.

… How the fuck does he do _that_.

Dave seems preoccupied with the last remains of his burger (guess he wasn’t finished), and he can’t see the girl who served them… Not good. Raising his voice is out of the question. He taps distractedly at the table as he does some logistics. He can clearly see who works here or not. He should ask one of them. Should he wait for them to get the bag, or go back to the table?

Ok. Execute plan.

A flash, and he’s next to one of the workers who seem most available; washing up a table, and the ones who were there is right by the door on the way out.

“… I need a do-” The dude jumps something fierce, and he jumps as well. But he’s somewhat large and slow, so Dirk doesn’t find him to be a threat. (precalculated, of course.) … He waits for him to stop freaking out. “… I need a doggy-bag.” He looks back to where Dave is sitting. His throat feels tight, and he fears he might not manage to keep on talking.

“I…” it squeaks out, and his throat locks up completely. The dude looks completely confused and kind of angry. Fuck. “…” He points to Dave, who has the decency to perk up when he’s pointed at. “K?”

The dude nods. He nods back. A meaningful conversation.

He flashes back to his seat. He wants to leave the food and run out. That was _bad_.

•

“Yeah, no problem,” he shoots back automatically as he tries to redirect the blood from his skin by sheer force of will. He hasn’t had too much luck with the sweat so maybe this will be the lucky bodily fluid of choice. Then not-Bro’s words get ran back through his head and he whips around to watch tiny-Bro fucking _blunder_ through that little request. This can’t be Bro, this man isn’t keeping his cool and he just. Apologized to Dave like it was nothing. If Bro had ever said those words, they were either out of earshot or when his brain wasn’t developed enough to form memories.

He’s staring unabashedly at him now, setting both hands on the edge of the table as he braces himself for something, like fake-Bro would be able to tell that he knew that this one had traded all his social graces for blindingly good swordplay skills. Part of him pushes back on that, but the fucker had killed original Bro, he can think whatever he wants about him. This really isn’t him, not all of him at least, and he doesn’t trust that one bit.

Not-Bro is across from him now and with him floundering so hard, Dave feels like maybe, just maybe, he could get something substantial out of him right now, if he acts fast. Before the guy brings them their boxes and bags. “So you already gave me the basic rundown, but I think you left out a couple a vital details my man I mean sure you told me the straight and narrow of it but shit’s more twisted than a corkscrew in a crazy straw on a goddamn tilt-a-whirl, so how about you dress it up a lil more for me here, can’t imagine you got down to one man hopping around like this too easily like sure it’s probably some supermassively messed up stuff but I think you doing some quick war flashbacks here would be about on par with walkin’ on the roof earlier and lemme tell you I really think that getting regaled with the exact reasonin’ on why you thought this place would be particularly welcoming of you ‘side from having the ability t’ get the drop on old ass you thanks t’ all that youthful grace 'n whatnot.”

He occupies one hand by twirling the still wrapped straw between his fingers as Dave stares him down. He wouldn’t _dare_ try this shit with actual Bro, but this imitator? He seems less equipped to wade through Dave’s verbal barrage than any of the teachers that ask him about why he didn’t do some project, or go through the motions of pulling him aside to ask him to apply himself, and there hasn’t been one yet that he hasn’t managed to brush off.

•

As Dirk tries loosening up his vocal chords, it seems that Dave just lost his filter, and probably took a virtual pirouette off the handle.

Dirk tries _really_ hard to parse through each individual word Dave is saying, but though the speaking itself is an attractive lull of rhythm and stoic monotone, the middle of his tirade blurs into something completely incomprehensible. Again, he gets the gist of it.

‘deets bro. what the fuck?’

Yeah, he can see how shit is a little fucked. He might have skimped some details.

He takes a slow, deliberate sip of soda, swallowing twice, thrice, hoping his voice won’t squeak out in protest again; turns out, it’s not as bad when he’s talking to Dave, though only just.

“… you askin’ why here’n now? Waddya wanna know?” he’s given up on the accent for now. Talking alone makes his chest squeeze uncomfortably, something akin to shame compressing his lungs. He’s not about to start some sob-story in hopes of Dave finding him pitiable or whatever the fuck. And honestly, there’s not much to tell about his life. Fucking lonely with only yourself as company just about sums it up.

•

His eyes narrow. This guy can’t seem to talk consistently, but then again, he’s not in that much of a place to judge with how he flipflops between chilly, controlled speech patterns and freestyling it. Oddly, now that the man is more divorced from his concept of Bro, actual Bro, he can find it in himself to get angry. He had the nerve to try and fill Bro’s shoes but _Dave_ of all people can cow him. Why is this upsetting him so much more than everything else?

Dave rolls around the idea of just flipping out on him. He’d deserve it. Probably? No, he definitely did. Bro isn’t alive because of him, but he’s less angry about that than the way everything has been changed and he’s supposed to just go with it, because that’s what he does, but fuck.

His words are slower now, with more emphasis and careful enunciation. “Asking now because. You’re pretty fucking bad at pretending. The hell do you mean what do I want to know. You keep yanking my chain here and-” He shakes his head and rips the end of the paper enclosing his straw, balling it up between his fingers. “I’m asking here, because even extra fucked up you knows better than to try and grind my face into the concrete in public. You know it, I know it, and I’m not too sure that you’d really want to jump dick first into the legal system when you’re barely standing in public without the pressure. You’ll save it for when we get home. So. Spill. Why are you here.” The thrill of talking this way to someone that even looks like Bro has him shaking. He’s not sure if he hates or loves it, but it’s certainly something. Dave can’t look at him now.

•

Oh.

Well. Bonding time is over, it seems. Dirk pretends that Dave’s words are a slight blow to his pride, and not fucking heartbreaking. Were they… Not cool, somehow…? Of course he’d fuck up meeting Dave on the first day, first moment. Today has been one major fuck-up on his part, and honestly, he pretty much deserves getting called out for it.

Even though he understands what Dave is _saying_ now (is he enunciating for him, or is he just angry?), he still can’t make head and tails out of it- he wasn’t trying to yank any chain, and he’s not even sure what Dave means by grinding his face into concrete…? Why is the legal system being involved right now??

Whatever courage had his vocal chords loosening up is gone like hooker realizing he’s not being paid. For all it’s worth, he opens his mouth to start a word, any word, and he just makes a strangled little sound. Yeah, that’s not gonna work. People are looking at them. He wants to hide them both far away where they can talk in peace.

Dirk finds his phone again and starts typing. He’s not even connected to the internet, but writing and sending a message to himself still works.

TT: I think you misunderstood my question. I was asking if you wanted me to talk about why I chose this place, at this time. To answer the question you didn’t ask, it wasn’t really a deliberate thing. I just wanted a universe where things didn’t end up as they did, and this one was the first and best one.  
TT: It ain’t about pretending either. I’m Dirk, Dirk is me, we are the same person. I could talk at you about nature vs. nurture till your eyeballs fall out, but I’m pretty sure you’re not in the mood right now, so I’ll contain my philosophical excitement.  
TT: It seems you believe I am ‘yanking your chain’. I don’t know which way I’m yanking it, but safe to say you’ll have to tell me so I can stop pulling.  
TT: also, I’m pretty sure I haven’t ground your face into concrete. Are you mixing us up?

A loaded last question there, but what was once a glowing warmth in his belly has cooled into a weighed lump in his gut. If he and Dave aren’t cool, then there is certainly a reason for it- and the reason is most _certainly_ Dirk Strider. The dude was built like damn bara dream, and somethings, like the way things are _the same_ in their home even though it’s not apocalyptic and they don’t strictly need to hoard swords in a fridge or live off of cup noodles… It’s starting to paint a picture that’s settling a dread in him that feels oddly like Jake stopping texting him.

He passes the phone over to Dave.

•

That noise, and the expression on not-Bro’s face only serves to confirm that this is very much not Bro, no matter how he looks. Dave keeps playing with the straw, sliding the rest of the packaging off of it to start folding the little paper up into the tightest little square he can without looking at the accordioned thing. The hell is little-Bro’s game. Who could the guy even be texting?? Did he have contacts here to tip him off to the idea that this place and time was the ideal fit for him to step into even if shit is literally world’s different?

Dave drops the bit of garbage in favor of snatching the phone away from him in the hopes that it would somehow clear any of this up. Once again his eyebrows are raising as he realizes the young-Bro is using this as way of speaking to him. Wordlessly, he adds himself to Dirk’s chumlist. Even without internet it should save for when he’s actually connected. It would be less bizarre than just holding the other’s phone while he processes, well, as much as he can at the moment.

"Sure. I figured it was a case of wrong place wrong time for Bro and I, sort of a first come first serve deal but you decided to elbow your way into the line a little late. You’re not the same though. I thought you were, but I don’t think Bro has even said so many consecutive words to me in my life, and I get the feeling you could keep going if I gave sufficient fuel to the fire. Pick a side dude you go on and on about being the same person then double back like oh no the individuality we’re _aren’t_ the same why would I be held to any sort of standards or expectations taking on the mantle of the coolest motherfucker in existence? Hell, I don’t know which way you’re yanking me either! I’d say that’s part of the fucking problem here. Just because you haven’t had the chance to kick the everloving shit out of me yet doesn’t make me stupid, I don’t have that much lasting brain damage; I couldn’t hold a candle to Bro, and he couldn’t measure up against you, so I don’t have any delusions about not having my ass handed to me on a silver platter at quick service speeds. A full on seven course meal of ass in record time. "

Dave sets the phone on the table in front of other-Bro. “I’d say sorry for not keeping my shit together here but Christ. You’re worse at this than _me_.”

•

Dirk takes in the way Dave’s brows lift, and somehow Dirk is certain that Dave isn’t very impressed.

His stomach tightens further as Dave goes on. If Dirk was holding onto a hope that Dave would chill once he explained further that he didn’t have any… Ill intentions or whatever, it’s crumbling fast.

Another stroke to what turns out to be a pretty god damned fucked up painting. Was Dave waiting for an asskicking cause Dirk killed his bro, or because bro … kicked his ass? Either is a pretty fucking disheartening answer.

Looking down to the text he wrote, brow vaguely drawn together, he’s about to type before he notices his new chum; uh. Well, how does _that_ work, then? If he’s being 100% hated and feared the guts out of, why would Dave add himself on his chumroll? Not that he minds. And he did call his bro the coolest motherfucker in existence…

TurntechGodhead, huh… Haha, TG. The ache worsens.

TT: hypothetical apology accepted I guess  
TT: Like I said, nature vs nurture, dude. I’m sure we’re different in some miniscule ways, but according to my calculations and previous experiences, all 'me’s are me. I suppose I should say that while I do take on responsibility of what previous me did, I am not privvy to his thoughts, so I don’t actually know what your relationship was, or how to perfectly replicate it yet. We’re like a cell that got split. RNA up in this motherfucker, dude. He grew up in concrete city, I grew up in the water apocalypse. This product needs an initiation-time of approximately 2,5 weeks before synchronization is complete, only the synchronization is actually getting integrated with his business practice and every day life.  
TT: If you’re saying I can’t replace him, I suppose I’ll deal with that, and I’m sorry you feel sad about it.  
TT: Though from what I’m gathering, and my gathering is pretty much pin-point accurate, there doesn’t seem to be much reason for you to miss him, if it involved ass-kicking. Are you talking about strifes? I don’t know why this should be a thing, since this earth is peaceful.

He’s about to delete that last sentence, but the dude comes over with a doggy-bag, so he pushes the phone to Dave and nods his thanks stiffly to the dude. He nods back. He think they might have chemistry.

Instead of looking at Dave like he’s a forlorn puppy as he reads, Dirk starts filling up the bag as neatly as he can, taking his time. He doesn’t want Dave to run around with his phone. Fifty odd thoughts mingles in his frontal lobe, and he suddenly feels exhausted. Of course this Dirk brings him just as much trouble as AR did.

•

Dave rubs his temples because all the hydration in the world can’t manage a stress headache. It’s downright bizarre how talkative this guy is. Not, bad, per say. Just yet another off the wall thing that he needs to slog through without any guidelines or practice. He doesn’t have a script for this.

“No, I don’t think you could redo that without bursting into flames, he’s cultivated that ice cold- _he’d_ cultivated that chill ass persona like the finest wine you could ever pretend to enjoy my entire life and then some, not something you can bullshit on the fly. Doubt you could ever get there considering you’re starting out in the red, like I know I’m ranked above average on the scale but yeah strifes he was the master and I know perfectly fuckin’ well that if he really wanted to he could have lopped my head off and left me for the crows which shows how good I am a swordplay I mean I’ve been at it for a decade so I really should be able to- should’ve been able to land a hit or two but nah, most I managed was scraping up Lil Cal and that got me in some serious shit. What does peace have t’ do with strifes though? In case you haven’t noticed in your studies, humanity doesn’t tend to be the kindest to itself. Self defense and shit, picking yourself up by your bootstraps and learning to get up and go no matter what the world throws at you. And honestly, if I could’ve learned to handle Bro, I could have handled anything. Like I said, guy’s a legend.”

He bristles just slightly at young-Bro touching his food. They didn’t mess with each others shit, that was basic code of honor stuff, aside from what Bro intentionally left out for him because obviously that’s cool between them and he’s not going to pull some sappy thing like outright handing stuff over when they both know it’s fine and don’t need to talk about it.

The phone is placed face up on the table in front of not-Bro.

•

…

Dirk sighs.

TT: I can see that, I suppose. Where I come from, humanity really wasn’t a problem.

He pauses for a long time at that, not giving it back to Dave as he looks down at it. He can see how training would be necessary to defend yourself. Shit doesn’t add up though, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he has too little data or because the logic the previous Dirk had wasn’t sound.

Why the fuck would he want to beat the shit out of Dave? Yeah, it’s convenient calling it strife, but Dirk has seen enough anime to know how epic comradery training should go, and it often involves things as _helping_ and _learning away_ , and standing in the sunset all sweaty and shit and grinning to each other cause they reached the top of the mountain or what the fuck ever.

TT: Doesn’t sound like fun, your strifing. But whatever floats your boat I guess, like I said, I don’t know your baggage.

Another sigh, but this time through the nose.

TT: Like I said, I need time to acclimate, so.  
TT: Either you report me to your police or whatever, or you wait out the trial period and see if broship with Dirk 2.0 is worth it or nah. Your choice.

All in all, as much as Dirk would LOVE for Dave to like to hang around with him, he’d just feel shitty and manipulative if he was there just cause he was afraid he’d lob his head off. Calling the police would be pretty much futile, but he’d at least get the fuck out of the apartment, the message clear enough.

TT: We’re heading home btw.

He puts the phone down and packs up the rest of the food, completely disheartened. Of course Dave wouldn’t fucking want to spend time with him. His Dave would probably have reacted the same, incredulous and kind of hellishly disappointed in what he’d tried to raise.

He’s gotta forge on though. He got here, and he at least needs to see if he can meet up with his friends. Experience the world a little. Talk to a person, even.

The idea doesn’t seem as giving as before.

•

“Fun. No, it wasn’t fun, it sucked ass but I’m not an infant I could keep myself in one piece.” Dave absently rubs at one of the nastier scars on his arm, from when he’d tried a particularly daring and stupid move of ambushing Bro instead of the other way around. Bro had to help him stitch it, and he gets an unpleasant squeeze in his chest at knowing those strong, dexterous hands wouldn’t be patching him up ever again. It was unlikely to have ever happened anyway, since he’s smarter than that now, but the flat out impossibility of it still does something unpleasant to him.

“Report-” Small-Bro keeps managing to surprise him. He shakes his head sharply. “I’m not saying fuck all, it’s just that if you do it out here before we get some shit squared away then _someone_ will bitch about it to someone who might get their nose in our business, and your business is pretty on edge right now.”

He gets up once not-Bro has the food all bagged up for them. It’s bizarre to know that it might just be fresh and waiting for him in the fridge if mini-Bro isn’t flat out lying to his face. This isn’t the reaction he expected. Not that he had exact expectations of how that stunt would go, but it wasn’t the guy just offering to let him walk.

Then again, he probably knew just as well as Dave that he couldn’t, he’s just pointing out the alternative to complying with him. Calling the bluff he’d assumed Dave was making, like he really thought he’d be able to verbally wrestle him into playing nice. It almost offends Dave with how dumb that makes him out to be. He wouldn’t stand a chance by himself, Dave knows his limitations.

“Sure. I’ll lead the way back I guess, lesson learned.”

•

Well, Dirk at the very least does not have to look for different housing today. So that’s a relief.

It’s like taking a cup of water from the ocean and dumping it into his own boat. It doesn’t really… Make the ocean any less vast, or less wet.

He’s not sure if there’s any lesson learned here either, but he really can’t stand sitting here anymore, so he joins Dave outside.

So much fucking noise. He he shrugs off some excess nervous energy, then brings his hands up to his stomach, ending up holding the bag against his chest like a baby dog or something. He deftly dodges a kid that comes running past.

The trip back home is painfully silent between them, and painfully loud around them. He checks an audible sigh of relief as they get back to the block and the noise cuts off, and completely disregards an elderly lady who greets him with a ‘welcome back, Mr. Strider’. He doesn’t need another human person interaction today, thank you.

He flashes up the stairs cause it’ll take forever otherwise, and enters their apartment, looking around again. Well. It’s still trashy, but in a way that he realizes makes him a little stressed. Dumping trash is _bare_ minimum, and it seems like the previous Dirk got a bit too jokester for his own good. So as Dave comes in, he’s taking the swords out of the fridge and laying them out by size. They’re pretty much immaculate and unused, so the fridge is actually very clean. He stuffs the whole doggybag in and shuts the door again.

While he’s at it, he dumps the contents of what’s in the nearest two cupboards onto the floor as well. A couple of traps go off, but they’re kinda pathetic and useless. Dirk might be in a testy mood.

When they’re empty, he shoves the stack of noodles he found in there, and the bag of chips.

Cleaning is a lot easier than handling Dave right now, so his focus easily drifts to that. Gathers smuppets to a pile, gathers all the trash into a pile, throws all the dirty clothes in a hamper… He’d kill the other Dirk twice over if he’d known he’d make such a fucking mess. After checking the sink if it also has fresh water (he believed so, since that was his only source of fresh water back home), he takes away the soggy messes of plushies past from the drain and chucks that in the pile of trash too. The skin of the thing is moldy, and can’t be re-used. A fucking _travesty_.

He lets his mind process everything as he goes. Dave, and Dave and this Dirk’s relationship being most likely shit, and Sburb, and how this all connected together. If this Dirk thought he was going to play a game, just like Dirk did. If he went insane when he realized he’d waited on nothing… Like Dirk also did. Not that it really matters, or excuses any kind of behavior he may have had. Dirk also thinks about when to get rid of the body of his previous self. He opts to check on Dave for when he falls asleep, then head up on the roof again.

Ugh, the carpet here is _nasty_ , and not even because of motor-oil.

•

The walk home is perfectly bearable, because not-Bro is acting just slightly more like Bro in that comfortable silence, though it’s still obvious that the guy is all kinds of screwy. Okay, _comfortable_ might be slightly overdoing it. Less hellishly out of the norm.

What can he say, he likes routine, and Bro, while erratic, could be depended upon in that. Simple “if, then” statements could lay out the day. If he wakes up on his own time, he should expect not to be personally hassled until after school. If Bro seems less into the strifes than usual, then there’s a lower chance of him bothering to toss some snacks Dave’s way. He could read him like the weather, by the changing surroundings of the apartment. Sure, he might not be able to tell what’s up a week in advance, or even if those clouds will have any cool relief, but he can get the seasonal trends, or what a sudden drop in air temperature means, or a sudden influx of half finished smuppets.

When young-Bro disappears up the stairs with the food, part of him wonders if he’ll be seeing it again. Another part answers that he knows where the fridge is, relax; Bro pulled a whole lot of shit but lying wasn’t one of them, at least as far as he’d known.

But the man was very much not Bro, as evidenced by the actual, honest-to-god sigh of relief that had slipped out of him. It couldn’t be that wild out there compared to some _I Am Legend_ style post-apocalyptic nonsense.

Dave stops in the doorway at the sight of Bro’s _good swords_ , the one he wasn’t sure he even actually took out for anything and Dave only assumed were the good ones because of how Bro had gone through the cheap katanas like nobodies business and these had been unmoved for who knows how long. He’s glad for his own faltering in a moment though, because murder-Bro activates some of the older traps, and he takes the hint to fuck off back to his room. At least he’d spotted exactly where his food was being kept. Not that he trusted it wouldn’t be bait for whatever replacement traps will be set up. Ugh. He’s going to need to keep an eye out for some different flair to any of that going forward thanks to the increasingly apparent difference in styles.

He doesn’t sleep. He lays in bed in a t-shirt and boxers, sheets pulled up and his eyes closed, back to the wall, and goes through the routine of consciously relaxing himself so he has a chance to catch some sweet z’s, but that’s not exactly enough to combat the jolt of adrenaline from other-Bro opening his fucking door like it’s nothing. Dave keeps his breathing slow and steady, moving his eyes now and then like he’s in full REM sleep until he hears the soft click of the door shutting. What the hell is this guy’s problem. Clearly, they’re even more numerous than actual Bro’s.

Then again, Bro doesn’t have any problems now. Dave wonders what he would do if another Dave showed up to off him. After everything, it’s not that unlikely.


	2. Chapter 2

At about three AM, Dave slips out of his room to check if the food was still in the fridge. He’s careful and brings an unsheathed sword just in case, balanced on his toes and ready to dart away at a moment's notice when he opens the door. Dave spends entirely too long staring into the nearly empty thing and tiredly thinking about what the new routine might be like. Maybe they’d have like. Milk. And cereal. Is weird-Bro into that kind of thing, ransacking long dead grocery stores for stale Wheaties and flat soda? He’s fairly certain that most households have like. Fruit and vegetables. Some kind of grain was apparently important according to the shitty food pyramid plate thing that his school wouldn’t stop changing. Wheaties definitely have grains, wheat is in the name.

•

At three o’clock, Dave is raiding the fridge. At the moment, Dirk is unlocking some accounts and searching through personal belongings of other Dirk to find his wallet. The more he searches, the more he’s sure it’s still in Dirk’s back pocket.

Currently, the living room is a mess. An _assorted_ mess mind, but he’s reconfiguring their space into something more functional. Annoyed by the traps he keeps triggering (why would it target people _in_ the house?), he’s moved the lot of them to point towards the window. Cabinet doors are open, there’s several piles that seemingly has a theme (one just being ‘electronics’, by the amount of cables accumulated).

He tries not to stare as Dave tentatively checks the bag. Dirk hasn’t taken anything since earlier, the knot in his stomach too tight for him to properly enjoy it. And if there’s one thing he wants to do when he eats an honest to god _burger_ is to enjoy it.

He’s not sure if Dave even notices him sitting there in the dark (when did it get dark?), but Dirk keeps still until he pads back. Dave hasn’t slept a fucking wink yet, it seems. Or, he probably slept a little when Dirk checked in on him, maybe? But he sure as fuck is awake now.

Ok, whatever. Dirk _needs_ to see if the wallet is with other Dirk, and the longer he waits, the longer the blood will soak into the wallet; and what if there’s cash?

So, when a good half hour has gone by, Dirk slips into the attic-space again and looks around; like he thought, there’s plenty of chemicals there. He flashes his phone-light around and gathers up what he’s already memorized by heart. The concoction he’s thinking of should be enough to melt animal bone and do a serious job on metal, so he’s not scared it won’t work on the corpse. He also brings the liquid that’ll ruin the acid after.

He looks around a little to see if there’s a bucket or something for him to use, but the closest he gets to is a smaller titanium tool-case. At least it’s not shelved, and the metal is strong enough to withstand the acid, so he’s pretty sure he can use that with some creativity.

He wonders how this Dirk found this stuff so early in the timeline, but figures he should count his blessings this once.

No use in waiting for sunrise. This time of night should be perfect. He brings everything to the roof, including the eight plastic bags. They slosh ominously.

Once he’s on the roof, he finds a place that’s not in immediate vicinity to the door; he can learn from his mistakes. Once he’s set up the toolbox, making the acid is … Again, pretty much easy. He knows the measurements and what goes first, so he starts mixing. A small part in him wants to compare this to a wizard’s potion, and he firmly tells himself not to fucking giggle. That would sound insane.

With the last ingredient, only a small dose of it, goes into the box, the acid sizzles angrily. Piranhas got nothing on this.

He opens one bag. It stinks. There’s one and a half arm there. Immediately, he curses himself for not chopping it up further. With a grunt, he brings out his katana and _chops_. The wet thud rings weird in his ears.

Very glad he didn’t eat more of the burger, he gently places the part against the rim of the box, then lets it slide into the acid. It _boils_ , the skin and muscle already frying, and the smell is _indescribably bad_. Dirk pulls up his polo over his nose.

•

Dave doesn’t eat, because he’s not hungry and everything looks undisturbed from what he can tell. Freshly blinded from the light of the fridge, he stalks back to his room to return his sword to its rightful place and consider what to do. Rose would get on his case if she saw him online at this time of night, the hypocrite. Lightheartedly, of course, but still, he’s not up to the usual playful roughhousing tonight. Better to keep that lie consistent across his contacts and just not log on.

His thoughts feel too loud, and he finds his mind tracing the edges of a desire he’d been repressing. It _still_ doesn’t feel entirely real. Bro is dead. He knows this. But his instincts still scream at him to be on the lookout for Bro as much as young-Bro. Even trying to summon up the horrific image of Bro’s skull skewered through the soft spot of his temple didn’t work, because he kept getting hung up on other details. How the weight of the bags had seemed to cut into his hands. The way that sunlight streamed through not-Bro’s hair. How his stomach had seized up and his lungs had thought that was a good idea and followed suit for a little while.

It’s not so impossible-feeling as it had been in that moment, but it’s still an unstable halfway point and Dave would like to actually sleep instead of wondering if Bro had actually bled out on the roof when he left, if he should have done something different. He just needs confirmation.

While he hesitates before slipping out the door to brace himself for what would undoubtedly be a gruesome scene (unless murder-Bro had already bleached the place, and that might be for the better), he’s woefully underprepared for the reality of the situation. Once again, he stares uncomprehendingly as he takes in the scene in front of him.

This time, he finds himself launching into movement long before his brain can catch up with him, spare shitty sword ejecting from his sylladex and spearing Bro’s god damn forearm into the cement beside that frothing mess. A second, slightly shittier sword is in both hands and he’s circling not-Bro in his boxers and shirt as seriously as he would the original. For once, he’s having trouble calling words to mind. He can’t organize _why_ he’s doing this, but he knows he has to- whatever this is.

•

It’s a testament to how fucking bad it smells that he didn’t hear or see Dave coming. A sword is in his hands and he's standing before he knows it is, and he looks down to Dave in a daze. Uh. Why did he just use his best sword to pin a dead person’s forearm to the ground…?

’ _Why does people do dumb shit, Dirk._ ’ a sarcastic part of him answers, and he purses his lips a little.

“Dave…” Maybe he’s actually lucky he didn’t go head first on this one. “I don’t think you want to see this.”

•

“I don’t think you want to do this,” Dave snaps back. He’s not startled by the appearance of the blade in the least, but the way his name is trailed off is odd. Not that _that_ is particularly notable among everything. He’s wound up tight and making his way around other-Bro with intense focus. His internal commentary is blissfully quiet.

“Step off unless you want to match.” Dave jerks his chin towards the impaled, still bubbling arm. He doesn’t look directly at it just yet.

•

“…”

The concept of someone being attached to a dead body is… A bit much on Dirk’s brain right now. It reminds him of scenes in movies he used to scoff at even as a kid. They’re gone, so why are they trying to talk to them? And it’s not like Dave is out of his mind with grief, he’s not even crying. He’s just being… Possessive, maybe…?

“I… Do need to get rid of the corpse, Dave. What do you suggest I do?”

•

“Fuckin’ _wait_ , I don’t give two shits what you do so long as you fuck right off and do it somewhere else.” Dave's stance changes slightly; he’s not getting ready to take a blow, he’s gearing up to attack, and he’s hiding it too. “Get. Away.” His lips are twitching like he wants to snarl at him.

•

A reflexive part of Dirk, one that has admired his Dave's skills, wants to say ’ _come at me, bro_ '. After the initial want to check this Dave’s sweet skills with the sword first hand, he realizes that it’s… It wouldn’t be worth it, like this.

Dave clearly wants some control of the situation; he’d want that as well. Dirk takes a slow step back away from the bags and the tool-case, not quite willing to lift his hands up in surrender. Old instinct.

“Acid. Don’t touch it.” He won’t tell him anything else- Dave wouldn’t appreciate it.

•

He breathes out and waits a second to be sure he’s not changing his mind, either of them, then Dave’s sword (the nicer one) is cleanly bisecting the portion of limb just above where the visible damage is. Stopping the spread of the acid eating away at it any further just in case it was strong enough to work like that. Now he can think, because Bro- Bro’s corpse isn’t in any danger but the one decomposition poses. The discolouration is obvious after this long, even with the likely impressive amount of preservatives lingering in his tissues from the sheer amount of heavily processed foods he had eaten.

Both swords are stowed away as he crouches down to get a look at what remained. His shades are pushed up into his hair to display the sleepless bruising beneath, so he can get an unfiltered view. It’s repulsive. He’s smelled worse, through various wildly failed attempts at preserving things himself, and maceration has a certain scent to it that he would rank as worse than the foul chemicals in the air, though at least it didn’t threaten to burn his nose like this does.

His shoulders drop as he rests a hand on one of the bags and feels the weight within. That’s Bro. That’s everything of him. He shaped so much of Dave’s life, and a few seconds were all it took to make him into _this_. Just meat. No imposing presence or awe inspiring stature. Just meat, chopped, bagged, and breaking down. Dave’s breath hitches hard a few times before he decides to go all the way and open the largest bag to see just how thoroughly he had been taken apart.

•

Dirk feels intensely uncomfortable. Another strike to his record; he definitely should have waited until he _knew_ Dave was asleep… Then again… Maybe it’s… not horrible that Dave came. He could have snuck the door open and gotten a glimpse and been on his merry way, but he _wanted_ to… Uh. Do this?

In honesty, Dirk wasn’t trying to be particular about how he cut himself up. Arms, legs, torso, head. The torso was too big, so he cut where his hips ended. He’ll need to chop that up a lot more. He’s not looking forward to smashing the head.

His hand twitches in protest when Dave opens a bag; the biggest one, containing the upper part of the torso. Mostly intact, but the guts are spilling out in a pool at the bottom…

Dirk swallows inaudibly. You’d think that refusing it’s your body would help, but he takes solace in it. It’s _is_ his body, so technically it’s not even gross, right? Like, if you get a big burn on your arm, people find it gross, but you don’t, cause you get used to it.

Yeah.

•

The bag is adjusted around Bro’s torso with delicate touches. He wants to cry at the way the heat left it warm to the touch. He _does_ cry as his hand splays out across Bro’s chest, unable to choke back the quiet sob. There’s the impulse to dig his hands in, to claw through until he could identify whatever spark made his brother _Bro_ instead of whoever the other person on the roof is. Dave doesn’t do that though. It would feel like a violation, like climbing into Bro’s crawlspace. That’s his space. This is his body. He’s already trespassing.

Another desire stems from that one, and it’s so much harder not to follow through on cutting Bro’s heart out and prove it existed. He hasn’t dissected a human. He’d been on a field trip to a university where they had, in his anatomy class, but those weren’t people anymore. This is still Bro. He can’t mess this up.

He needs more time.

Instead, Dave closes up that bag and forces himself to his feet, bloodshot eyes fixing on Dirk. “Help me carry this to the fridge.” It’s absolutely gruesome, but fuck it, this is so, so far beyond normal without his help. If he let it be lost, he’d never stop regretting it.

•

Dave’s eyes are beautiful.

The thought intrudes on him as the red, glassy gaze locks on his shades. Dirk wants to take his off to see how red they are. He knows his Dave had red eyes too, but there’s was only the the couple of times on one of the weirder videos he got from him that he could glimpse it.

Then the words registers, and a whole new problem is flung in his face.

“… What’s the plan?” He’s not exactly gonna say _no_ when Dave is standing there crying, and … you know, he’s read that grief shows itself in odd ways, and this is _decidedly_ on the ‘odd’ spectrum of things.

•

“Workin’ that out. Just keeping it on ice until I get familiar with the methodology. Dunno. Maybe I’ll use Bro’s sword, symbolic or some shit, not that there’s many how-to’s online about organ extraction via katana. I mean. Might be a couple. I’ll figure it out.” There’s an oddly reassuring amount of heft to the bag as he starts to drag it, then stops himself, because the last thing anybody wants is for it to rip and spill its contents.

“…can you carry it for me?” This time, he focuses on Dirk instead of looking through him. He wishes it would rain so he would have an excuse for the way he keeps having to blink through tears.

•

Well, at least he’s not keeping it ‘just cause’. Seems like something a kid his age would say.

Haha, as if Dirk has _any_ idea.

“Sure.” The bottom of the bag is … soft with blood and other things, but he holds under it anyway and leans the chest to his own chest. This Dirk’s more broadshouldered. Asshole.

“I need to go back up after.” Can’t leave highly corrosive acid unattended for long, not to mention several bags of chopped up human.

The walk back is so highly unreal that Dirk is wondering if he might have fallen asleep. This feels like a less than mediocre feverdream. He’s not sure if he wants to wake up or not. Instead of giving that more thought, he pushes all that away and focuses on the important shit again. Dave wants to … keep an organ, it seems. Ok, sure thing. Internet is your friend and all that. Seems like Dave is familiar.

With nothing more to say, he lets Dave guide him to do whatever. It’s a lot easier than trying to parse whatever moment it is they’re having right now. Dirk desperately wishes to send a message to Jane for help with this.

•

“Yeah, do what you want with the rest.” It’s almost funny how Dirk struggles with the notably larger bit of body, in an exceptionally morbid way. He doesn’t feel like laughing.

The bag of food is removed, the bag set in the fridge, then Dave is opening up the ice maker to pluck out the cherry bombs and set them on the counter so he can start using it for its intended purpose. He’s not sure how long this will take and it’s better to start now. Once all that is done, Dave closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the freezer door.

When did he get this tired?

He waits for Dirk to return, though it’s not at the front of his mind.

•

Dissolving the rest of the body takes way longer than he could have anticipated.

Granted, he did have a very inconvenient pause where he had to tenderly carry the torso down to be frozen for later dissection, but chopping up everything else and letting it plop into the toolbox… Yeah. It’s not slow, but since the toolbox is small, there’s a lot of pieces.

He feels like a butcher.

At the end, the toolbox is pretty damned full, and the colour is completely different. The scent is burnt into his nose, and once again he’s red from fingertip to elbow.

Not heeding it any mind this time, he throws in the plastic bags for good measure, then pours in the mixture that’ll alkalise the foul-smelling mixture.

It turns a slushy cobalt. Ready to be poured down the toilet. It feels poetic, in some way.

He pads down the stairs again, chemicals under one arm and the toolbox being held by both hands.

He ignores Dave as he walks by the kitchen, lifts the toilet-seat up with his foot, and dumps it all inn. Flushes it immediately. Rinses off the box in the shower. It’s never going to be used again. He dumps antibac he finds in a cupboard on it, cause it’s the only thing he can think of to make it slightly less cursed.

Leaving it there in the shower, Dirk washes off his arms again, throwing yet another shirt in the hamper. Puts on a new one. He can’t look himself in the eyes.

When he comes out, he looks to Dave.

…

Yeah, standing in the doorway of the bathroom is fine.

•

He’s tired, but Dave has washed his hands thoroughly and read various articles even though the words bled together and his mind skipped over entire lines or else he was rereading the same thing for solid minutes.

Seeing the blood on Dirk’s arms is odd, but his head feels heavy when he leans over to watch that blue that his brain instantly compares to the airplane toilet fluid he’s seen in various YouTube videos and clickbait about someone’s frozen piss being ejected mid flight. Alright then.

Dave continues watching, his shades still stuck in his hair while he sits cross-legged in front of the fridge with the pale light of his phone illuminating him from below. A solid minute passes before his phone automatically locks itself with a shutter sound, snapping him out of his open examination of Dirk and making him rub his burning eyes. “Smelled bad.” He sounds half asleep now, and his posture is drooping in a way that supports the idea, but then again he’s not resisting it as hard as he would have if Bro were around in a more lively way.

•

Dirk keeps looking at Dave, taking in his posture, the way he’s obviously exhausted. A flicker of humour twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah.” He shifts from one foot to the other slowly, tilting his head to the side in a way he knows seagulls do. “Don’t think I’ll smell anything for the next week.”

Seeing Dave so tired… Makes him tired. It’s like his bones are weighted, but his brain is still buzzing. He knows he won’t be able to sleep. He feels physically exhausted. It reminds him that he doesn’t really know if there are any side-effects of sending himself through time and space. He can’t find it in him to worry about it.

He digs his hand into his back-pocket, producing a whole five credit-cards and a thick wad of paper. “Found the wallet.”

•

God, that’s such a foreign thing to see on... someone that looks like Bro. It’s expressive and unusual, only the first aspect of which would have been new on Bro.

“Might be a blessing compared t’ smellin’ that all week instead. Really clean out the ol’ nasal cavity.” Dave’s lip curls at how the nosepads of his aviators are stuck in his hair. Horrible. He’s not going to try to fix that in front of tiny-Bro. He’s already cried in front of him, he doesn’t need to make matters worse.

“Nice. Y’ get into everythin’ you needed alright?”

•

Dirk takes his time to answer, marveling at… Dave.

Shaking himself out of it, he snorts a little. “Yeah, like it was hard.” He throws the wad of paper over to Dave underhanded, then walks over to the seemingly ancient computer.

“You can have that, and I’ll fix the credit cards for tomorrow.” Technically today. “And I’ll fix the mess,” he points vaguely to his piles, “after that. I just need a god damn system.”

This kind of discussion is more like he’d have with the AR- endless little banters on what goes where, what’s best to do in this situation, when should he go fishing. It comes to him easily enough, as long as he doesn’t think too hard on it.

•

It absolutely should not feel so _weird_ yet validating to hear him fucking snort like that. Dave snatches the thing out of the air and smooths out the paper before his eyebrows smush together. “Uh. I think you’re doin’ that whole future money thing again. This is like three hundred dollars.” That feels like a ridiculous amount of money, but his brain oh so helpfully supplies that that’s a standard furry digital painting if he ever upped his art game. Could be rolling in the cash if he did serious stuff.

“Cool. It’s already a lot cleaner dude I’m not going to ride your ass about it.” He groans as he gets to his feet and stretches luxuriously before leaning back against the pleasant, solid coolness of the refrigerator. The place barely feels like home already. Maybe it’s his sleep-deprivation taking the wheel, but Dirk isn’t registering as Bro right then. He’s unsettling the way anybody would be in his space. His silhouette is all wrong for it to be Bro, and the fact that Dave can hear him at all means he sounds nothing like him. “Hey. Since you got your snoop on, where’d Bro sleep? I figured it was on the futon but I never actually saw him conked out. Wasn’t sure he did sleep.”

•

Dirk shrugs somewhat easily. It looks stiff. “Three hundred bucks is literally a drop in a bucket compared to the sweet digits on these.” he holds up the cards again before stowing them away.

At the question, Dirk makes a thoughtful little noise. “Couch. But he spent some time up there as well,” he points up to the attic-door, “most likely. Though if he sleeps like me…” Slept. He trails off, shrugs his shoulders again. He slides into the chair, clicks the mouse a bunch of times. Time to get a look at how airtight this dude’s finances are. He hopes hella.

•

“Yeah but-” But it’s not Bro’s now, and Dirk can do whatever he damn well pleases. He shouldn’t be checking the molars of a gift horse quite so hard. Attempting to stuff the money into a pocket, he belatedly realizes he’s _still_ in his underwear, which does not have any pockets but the front one, and he’s not about to pack a wad of fat stacks. …he should use that for a rap later on, if he remembers.

Fuck, he’s going to be eating like a king.

No. No, he needs to actually start saving money now that he has enough to last him beyond the next week. He would have already started applying to jobs if the idea of having to cater to strangers all weekend instead of unwinding from the hell of high school didn’t absolutely paralyze him.

Dave bobs his head in a nod before drifting towards his room. “…y’ should just sit down for a bit then. If you got trouble sleeping same as us. Works better than workin’ through it.” Who does he think he is, offering advice. He’s too tired to be talking sensibly.

•

“Mm…” He nods a little, not taking the tip to heart at all. His mind is buzzing like a wasps nest, his body is just tired from the physical labour. Staring into nothing is unproductive, so; he’ll work until the buzzing goes down. It’s all very logical.

And anyway, there is a _long_ list of shit that needs to be done, and it needs to be done fast. Bills are hitting deadlines in a week, he needs to check on Dave’s files, he needs to re-learn a bit about high school- so much to be done, he’ll have no trouble forgetting how Dave had double-swords pointed at him like he was a villain.

Also, they need a new fridge and freezer.

“See you around, dude.”

•

“See ya.” It would be shocking how much better he feels about this now if not for the fact that he’s too damn worn out to be feeling much of anything but quiet relief at the way his muscles untense the moment he hits the bed. This is only mildly offset by how he has to free his aviators from his hair.

It’s nice.

____

When he wakes up, the sun is well on its way into the sky and he groans into his pillow at the thought of how he’s going to get _such_ a whooping since it’s been nearly a week- then he goes still as it all trickles back in. He should be feeling more than a nervous anticipation at the task he’s given himself.

He rolls out of bed and toys with the idea of getting right back in it, but his stomach rumbles, the traitor. Where had he put that burger and fries, the fries still had to be good, if a little stale from his neglect. The burger was probably fine, just soggy. He hasn’t had food poisoning yet.

Dave dresses like normal for the weekend. Loose, faintly bloodstained (and mustard stained) shirt, no binder, unrestrictive jeans, and sneakers. Ready to party. He’s not sure if it would be better or worse for everything to be different when he goes out into the hallway, primed for whatever new traps second-Bro had laid out for him.

•

There’s no traps.

Mainly because Dirk has been too busy to do anything but focus the ones that are there towards the window. The floor has been cleared, and all the trash has been sorted and put in bags by the door. It’s almost unrecognizable, the way he’s cleaned up all chords and moved stuff around for maximum space; he guesses it’s instilled in him from working with bots, but the floor in the very least should be clear in case he loses a small part or something and he needs to dive down to find it. Keeping shit organized is important, too.

The sparse furniture solution remains unchanged, and the apartment smells vaguely of chlorine and orange. He just mopped the floors cause it was gross, and he put the washer on. (There was one single cleaning tablet left. It pisses him off). The carpet is gone.

Right now, he’s neck deep into Dave’s High School curriculum, scrolling down the pages to see what the whole ordeal is about. It’s basic stuff, but most of it does need learning. Dave’s grades are… well, they’re fine, and really, not really important? Seems like a lot of stress about nothing, but he’s glad he’s not failing at least.

Like he’d hoped, Bro’s businesses are pretty much automatic and air-tight. It took a while to dig up all information about stuff he’s paying for and monthly subscriptions what needs to be paid, but the amount accumulated makes a small dent in their monthly income. He needs to meet with some dudes the 28th, but that’s still a long way off, so he’s not stressed about it. And once he got access to the their proper bank-account, he could see all expenses. The dude was a cheap fuck.

Dirk’s finger is tapping quickly against the table as he reads, and he’s hunched like gremlin on the chair, a couple of papers with scribbles on the floor where he’s taken notes of passwords and the like. He’s so deep into his reading that he doesn’t really hear Dave come in.

•

Yet again, Dave think _what the fuck_ to himself. Second-Bro is just. Sitting there. Menacingly.

Okay, maybe not menacingly, because that’s how he sits when he’s sure Bro has fucked off somewhere and he can actually sit comfortably at his own computer to spam a truly inadvisable amount of messages to all his favorite contacts. (By which he means, the same three contacts he’s always had.)

It’s weirdly _good_ to see all that trash and shit cleaned up, but his automatic first thought is where the hell is it. Will opening a closet unleash a deluge of filth and wrappers? Dave has always kept his own room pretty damn spick and span aside from the way his many, many cords spiderwebbed across the floor, but that’s not actually a cleanliness thing. Everything is so open now. Where the hell is he supposed to dodge? No real piles to dive behind now, guess he’d better get used to the futon being his go-to.

…the chemical smell isn’t wholly unexpected given the night previous, but the distinct lack of any stickiness to the floor is new.

He gives small-Bro a wide berth before peeking into the fridge to confirm that yep, actual-Bro’s partial body is right there and properly clammy. Dave knows he should feel bad about how that helps settle a knot of anxiety in his stomach, but he knows _exactly_ where Bro is. He should start crying again. Maybe more threats towards other-Bro? Dave isn’t really feeling that though, he’s more wondering what the guy is looking at so intensely. Doesn’t look like any magazines.

Creeping closer, Dave peers over Dirk’s shoulder for a few seconds before he realizes just what he’s looking at. “That’s outdated, they never update the online lists.”

•

Dirk is out of the chair before Dave is even finished with his second word. Drones- he should’ve heard it coming- but the clash against his katana never comes.

His vocal chords are so tight he can’t even curse. He puts the katana away and shakes his hands furiously.

Flips Dave off. It brings the point across. This is probably payback from the knock on the table yesterday.

He keeps shaking his hands as he gets seated again, then cracks all his knuckles. Spooked the shit outta him, god damn. It was his own fault, probably, for not paying attention.

•

He’s back against the opposite wall in an instant, not that the distance would do much when not-Bro finally got around to putting him in his place. Did small-Bro fuck up his hands grabbing his sword that fast?

Still, this is what he gets trying to cozy up to the guy. He might not be exactly Bro, or even half Bro, but the base material is still in there. Dave gives it a few more seconds, twitching at the way other-Bro’s joints popped noisily, then he’s snatching the warmed over bag off the top of the fridge and flashstepping to his room again.

All in all, not bad.

•

Dirk is disappointed when Dave only grabs his food and heads back to his room; but ok, whatever.

Ah. But he said something about this shit being outdated…? Relieved, Dirk remembers Dave adding himself to his pesterchum, so he logs on without thinking. It hits him again to see all but Dave’s chum greyed out.

He pushes the feeling that wants to bubble up firmly down.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: The curriculum’s outdated?  
TT: Where’s the updated one?

•

Dave's scrolling through his past messages, wondering how the hell to even begin approaching things with anyone. The babble from the afternoon previous feels like years away. Dave was marked offline of course, hesitant to even allow that brief flicker to change his status, but the comfort was needed.

He doesn’t change that before responding to the username he only vaguely recalls seeing before. Right. Who else would it be?

TG: probably in the annals of the schools internal paperwork but honestly i wouldn't promise that much theyre flying by the seat of their pants as much i am id say  
TG: why does it matter im not failing anything

•

Dirk’s mouth twitches upward, pleased and relieved. Dave answered him, which is pretty much a win in his book.

TT: Wanted to get familiar with it.  
TT: And you got that right, their server gives me fuckall.  
TT: Plus your politics class gives me an insight on what’s currently happening around the world.  
TT: Who needs newspapers am I right  
TG: eh a lot of it is shitting around while fox news plays on the projector and i commit the serious crime of vandalism of school property because i can do better research with my phone than the teacher can with her whole wall of elderly encyclopedias  
TG: i mean the things could be getting their masters degree at this point  
TG: practically ready for tenor and retiring on a pension  
TG: just holding out for that sweet sweet cash and the day they can book it on out into greener pastures

Dirk chuckles a little. A lot more talkative on the interwebz, just like himself.

TT: Damn. Imagine those encyclopedias meeting up with a young smartphone.  
TT: I can’t think of a more taboo relationship.  
TT: Smartphone-chan is raking in the cash and Encyclopedia-sama is demanding respect  
TT: Go back to work, Ency-sama. Smart-chan liked you better as a working book.  
TT: Anyway yeah most of what I’m finding here is trash. Point Smart-chan.

It earns a soft snort of laughter as Dave lays back down, keeping an eye on the door now that he knows Dirk could very well just stroll in.

TG: damn i think thatd be a real enemies to lovers plot right there smartchan is destined for greater things but what will they do when tragedy strikes and their battery wears out  
TG: will encysama be able to save smartchan without revealing their true feelings  
TG: tune in next time to find out  
TG: i can just fill you in on a lot of shit its just hideously floating between actually online stuff and paper copies so that nothing is entirely correct

Dirk hears the laughter, and his smile widens some.

TT: Wow, didn’t even think about the generation-gap, well spotted.  
TT: Ency-sama is just a straight up tsundere, huh. I-it’s not like I’ve looked up the word l-l-love! Baka.  
TT: I have the main events, but there are some pretty huge differences in what’s happening now vs. the same time back where i come from.  
TT: A distinct lack of clown and fish Hitlers.  
TT: But yeah, I’m not gonna be a politician, but I’d like to know what’s up. Articles or whatever you’d find not-horrible are appreciated.

Like this, he can almost forget that he’s talking to second edition Bro. It’s nice to have a fresh voice in his messages.

TG: most news that gets traction tends to be horrible or twisted inspiration porn thats the same but with a fun capitalistic spin  
TG: check it nancy here has stage 4 cancer but thanks to her gofundme her orphanage can be legally sold to nestle to pay for her funeral when she kicks it great work everyone  
TG: please elaborate on the clowning though

Dirk leans back in his chair, eyelids lowering a little, successfully distracted from his info-gathering for now.

TT: Literally eat the rich dude.  
TT: It’s the only way.  
TT: Dunno how much there is to tell you:  
TT: Which is to say, there’s too much to tell, but it doesn’t even matter cause it didn’t happen.  
TT: But basically the Insane Clown Posse (the duo) became presidents under the secret rule of Betty Crocker.  
TT: Surprising no-one, it was the beginning of the end.  
TG: fuck no the rich do weird shit to their bodies on the hunt for everlasting youth i dont want that kind of poison gunking up my system  
TG: i mean it still happened just not to me but also what the actual fuck  
TG: icp is largely a trash pile but aside from not knowing how to keep it age appropriate strikingly wholesome compared to pretty much any christian rock youre going to find around here  
TG: cant believe theyve been running a scam on us  
TG: hows the batterbitch related to that though i mean i know im anthropomorphizing the brand here but i dont think theres much corporate interest in teaming up with the clowns  
TT: Fair.  
TT: Yeah, I made sure to pick a universe where those two factors weren’t a thing.  
TT: I’ve been trying to find all the info I can get about both but it seems they’re harmless here.  
TT: For now anyway.  
TT: To further confuse you, Betty Crocker was a corporate firm that hid the fact that we were being taken over by aliens.  
TT: So. Batterbitch is an accurate description.  
TT: And the batterbitch appointed the clowns, cause. Obvious chaos-mongering, right. Kept us humans busy for a while.  
TG: okay so lets take it back for a hot second here  
TG: rewind  
TG: i can see some ill fated company mashups happening like shrek and heinz but like  
TG: alien aliens  
TT: Aliens aliens.  
TT: Trolls.  
TT: They’re pretty similar to us from what I could find on them.  
TT: And also bloodthristy, world-conquering assholes with superior tech.

And drones. And ships, and weapons. You’d think Dirk was tired of them, but after they stopped coming from his 16th and forth, he was _begging_ for a ship to come so he could pick it apart for his own means.

TT: So yeah. We’re not buying Betty Crocker products ever.  
TG: what like tolkien style orcs type of trolls or like the kind that turns to stone in sunlight and asks riddles so you can get safe passage across the bridge type  
TG: neither of those scream superior tech but what do i know  
TG: not this apparently  
TG: since were on the subject how did it get down to just you  
TT: Nah it was more like grey vampire orcs in various sizes. Pretty original design, but mostly humanoid. Think Star Trek but grey with dumb red horns.

He pauses. Yeah, how did it get to just him, indeed. The big question.

TT: How does anything end up post-apocalyptic, dude.  
TT: Humanity lost. Somehow, I was an exception.  
TG: wow all that and they couldnt even be bothered to throw some hentai monsters at you cant believe this

Dave should probably leave it. It’s already a lot for him to just accept the basic premise, but there’s no denying that Dirk is here, and if interdimensional time travel is perfectly doable, the idea of interstellar clashes isn’t that ludicrous. And that’s vague.

TG: yeah but how could you know for sure you were the last and not one of like a few thousand of the species scattered over the globe without cell service

•

He’s in the middle of answering the first one, cause; yeah, how dare they, really…? - Then his fingers stop up, and he stares at the question. Too close for comfort. Roxy.

Fuck.

TT: The endless sea was a hint.  
TT: No radio signals or signs of life besides fish and seagulls.

Fuck he can’t do this.

TT: Trolls didn’t live there if that’s what you’re thinking.  
TT: They came to destroy and conquer, not live and prosper.  
TT: …

Should he mention Roxy? What’s the point? It just hurts. It just tells Dave that Dirk’s even _more_ of a fuckup than he initially thought.

TT: his building was the only one with the top-floor over water.

That should satisfy his curiosity. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

•

The pause in messages should be hint enough that Dave needs to drop it already, but some part of him still whispers about what if it does happen? He should be prepared.

TG: so what they blasted the ice caps into oblivion and flooded the earth because that sounds pretty fucking wild and im not sure why you would pick this place when things are rapidly degrading environmentally  
TG: not anywhere near that degree of course but its rising  
TG: that sounds like hell though im not a huge fan of deep pools let alone an endless expanse of water  
TG: wait whose building first of all and secondly if that’s the only land where the fuck were the seagulls coming from  
TG: or did you have hyper evolved seabirds that carried their chicks in a pouch like a kangaroo and they learned to fly by being dropped over the water in a real sink or swim situation

There’s a long pause as Dirk just looks at the text. He should be happy that Dave is paying him any attention at all, considering how yesterday went, but he can’t find that happiness anywhere. He feels empty and kind of cold, like if he went swimming for fish and came back emptyhanded.

TT: They had nests under the flat. Birds don’t work like that. They have nests to lay in and waddled about on the beams.  
TT: The ice-caps are gonna be fine for as long as we live. That’s kind of where my standards are at.  
TT: But no, they did something that doubled the watermass. Some kind of weapon, nothing I’ve found really explains it.

Dirk switches over to his phone, suddenly drained of all energy. He sinks into the couch, his shades going crooked as he lays his head down.

TT: Does it matter? I’m here now, and there’s definitely no humans to worry about back there. I’ll tell you if something beeps on my radar.

Yeah, Dave should definitely stop pushing it. He’s already gotten a hell of a lot to mull over for the next few days at least.

TG: so you basically ran a sanctuary for wayward semiaquatic birds  
TG: seagulls are ornery bastards but they cant be as bad as crows  
TG: or ravens  
TG: fuck those guys theyre just crows beefed up cousin that thinks hes extra cool  
TG: i dont even know the difference between a rook and either of those so im deciding that theyre just the in between size like not a toy poodle and not a standard size either because no animal that intelligent needs to be large enough to open doors  
TG: i guess its not important at the moment but can you really blame me for wondering how it all went down i mean if you havent noticed the end of the world as we know it has been a hot topic in media

•

Dirk smiles reluctantly; he can almost hear the rap starting up, at least the rhythm of the speech Dave is making.

TT: Hey don’t go off on ravens, give credit where it’s due.  
…

TT: I guess. It’s kinda hilarious watching apocalypse movies dated right before the flood happened.

Mostly cause they were called Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff.

He closes his eyes, shutting his phone with a small click. Usually he can go on for days, but the situation seems to have caught up with him, finally. It’s like… 3 o’clock? He can probably doze off for a little while. He turns around and buries into the couch, sighing out as it gives and half-consumes him, shutting out the daylight efficiently.

Still, thoughts whirr, and Dirk’s not surprised when he can’t sleep. He just breathes in musty couch-dust, letting the dark shield his eyes from light, his glasses slipping up into his hair as he nuzzles in further.

•

TG: right right cant leave out old poe someone has to rag on him for popularizing them without bothering to expound upon the taxonomical differences between corvids leading to all sorts of wacky misunderstandings for generations to come  
TG: yeah i suppose so i mean 2012 really aged like dirt i remember a good portion of the kids at school got to skip because their parents were well shit its probably not time for the rapture but if it is i guess you can stay home because youre not going to get anything done anyway with how little timmy is climbing up on the desk to scream about the newest conspiracy theory thats going to strike at any second

Dave sees the orange flick to grey, and he swaps over to his other contacts. He’s fine. He’ll just pretend nothing is different for now, that way he can ease into this and make sure he’s really not dreaming or actually hallucinating.

•

Dirk tries to sleep for a meagre half hour before he gives up. Shit wasn’t mean to happen, Sandman skipped his address.

He sits up, pressing his lips together. There’s a good portion of things to be done, still, tough a majority of it is under wraps. Food is essential; Dave took off with their left-overs, but he has noodles in the cupboard, so they should be ok for today: Then they need to go … shopping.

Other than that, he needs to try to contact his three friends. He just needs… To get acclimated. Yeah. He’s not putting it off, he’s just… Making sure he won’t make a fool out of himself from ignorance first. They haven’t logged onto pesterchum, but who even knows; maybe they have a different chumhandle.

He also needs to help Dave with his dissection-project. He’s not going to butt his head in, but … It needs to go quick, bodies only lasts for so long. Ah, which reminds him he should get a new fridge with a freezer. They’re not gonna have food in that fridge after _that_. Seems unhygienic.

What else? Dryclean the carpet. Go through whatever is upstairs. Construct a proper sleeping-place. Possibly fix a fund for Dave’s college. So much to do.

Dirk makes a packet of cup noodles, his brain a mass of numbers, possibilities and what-ifs.

•

Dave does his usual, though when even John can tell something is up with him he has to head offline and fuck around with his webcomics instead. Thumbnail some stuff, touch on some editing backlog, evaluate how much more procrastination on an essay he can manage. (It’s a _lot_ , he’s the master of spitting out high word counts on a time budget, he just can’t be bothered to do it at the moment when it’s fucking Saturday, he has all the time in the world to slap something onto a Word Doc about the constitution. That teacher doesn’t even read all of the essay so long as he hits double the page requirement, just skims it, so he can slip in some fucked up source material among the litany of citations.)

That manages to burn a few hours, and thinking about how freakishly clean the living room was makes him want to step up his own game and actually dust off the old turntables in an entirely literal way. He’s not sure why he dropped them, or exactly when. Once it had been one of his go-to hobbies, now when he drags a finger through the dust he can’t recall the last time he even plugged them in. Freshman year? Man. Growing up is weird. He still knows he likes making music, it’s just. He’s stopped here and it would probably sound worse than he remembered if he picked it back up, and that’s just embarrassing. Better to enjoy the memories untainted by rudimentary musical knowledge.

The burgers are trash, he’s sad to realize. Dave’s blood runs cold when he realizes that _both_ of their meals had been stowed in the bag. He stole from other-Bro, and right in front of him too. Maybe it was such a ballsy move that he’d let it slide? Or the guy was just distracted by getting ready to punt Dave into next week for getting in his space.

Still. He shoves his little box of fries into the closet, still perfectly chewy instead of rock hard. Quality stuff.

His second venture out is much slower, creeping to the entrance of the living room and watching young-Bro for a moment before thinking better of it and tossing the bag back onto the fridge with a soft _thud_ that coincided with his door being shut again.

There. He won’t even need to use the bathroom for a little bit so he can wait until murder-Bro isn’t hovering where he can see Dave on the move. In the meantime, he’s going to do a little research.

•

After half-heartedly downing the noodles, Dirk finds himself at a limbo. He doesn’t want to keep the conversation he and Dave had up, he doesn’t want to contact his friends- _try_ anyway- and the more of the small stuff he does now, the less he actually has to keep himself occupied with.

Using hours on reprogramming some of the bots inside one of his businesses- a simple tax-related business, surprisingly enough- he checks the time. About midnight. Dave was awake at midnight yesterday, right…?

TT: Is it crowded at Walmart at midnight?

•

The response comes almost instantly; Dave is glad for the excuse to fend off well meaning but still intrusive pestering. He can hold off with some subject changes but that will only work for so long when he ollied out so hard before. He should have played it cool and they would have dropped it by now.

TG: not exactly i mean youll be able to reach out without tenderly caressing the ass of the person next to you but its the weekend so theres a good chance youre going to see people getting their party snacks or munchies along with a few nurses and whatnot doing their mid shift shopping so really its a match made in heaven if someone drops to the floor and starts convulsing from mixing things they shouldnt youve got medical professionals right there  
TG: so to restate  
TG: not really 

•

Great. So there _will_ be people. Dirk is starting to think that it’s inevitable to always have people around.

He’s not sure why he’s not ecstatic.

TT: Well thank fuck the full moon is almost up and my wereseizures was gonna be a problem  
TT: But if there are nurses there to handle my spastic ass I guess we’re good to go.  
TT: According to google maps it’s an approximately 10 minute walk?

While Dave answers, he checks and doublechecks the payment methods at Walmart. Seems straight-forward. They encourage bringing your own bags, but Dirk is thinking nah.

TT: Grab your grocery-list, we’re going shopping.

•

…small-Bro must want to keep a real close eye on him after all the stunts he’s pulled in the past day. Dave can’t really blame him, the guy saw him flip shit and hoard alt-him’s wrecked corpse like a kid with beloved stuffie that was well past worn through. He’d probably be suspicious of anybody doing that kind of thing too. Plus it was a decent jab at how he messed with young-Bro’s leftovers, he’ll admit that much. He could grab a few things with the pocket money he has so that it wouldn’t be agony to see second-Bro load up on the goods.

His lips twitch at the little joke though. It almost softened the idea of being dragged along like a toddler.

TG: alright one minute

He hadn’t been given a time frame, so he assumes even that is pushing it and yanks on his binder after a few quick stretches and a loud adjustment of his spine. It might just be Walmart, but he’s not about to be called ma’am by someone in a camo baseball cap.

Seeing how he was explicitly invited along, Dave doesn’t linger too long before slinking out to meet other-Bro. He kind of doubts that there’s going to be anything particularly fucky between that point and being in public property, but he’ll keep an eye on the stairs as always.

•

TT: sure

Dirk looks down at the list of things he would be interested in getting. It includes a lot of orange products, but also involves tools that’s lacking here, material for the bed he’s planning on making, extra fabric for smuppets, and about 50 food-items he wants to check is there; he’s not planning on buying it all, but… It’s just cool to see if it’s there.

He’s also aware that the store has a clothing aisle, or the equivalent. He might look for some slacks and a couple of tops.

When Dave joins him, he nods towards the entrance. “We’re bringing the trash out. Grab two.” He’s already ransacked _all_ the mail previous Dirk had gotten and not deleted, so he’s pretty savvy on apartment rules and the like.

When they head out, Dirk murmurs, “Walmart is massive, so if we split we’re holding contact through our phones. We’re not buying explosives, and if you’re getting chemicals it’s going through me.”

They walk down the stairs, and Dirk hesitates for a moment before adding, “We need a new freezer and fridge. Not sure how we’re getting that home yet, considering the lift. No rush with that one though.”

•

Dave, of course, has no list. He flies by the seat of his pants and intends to check the clearance isle because _fuck yeah_ he’ll take that about-to-expire dented can of whatever for dirt cheap. He can handle it not being pristine, because the packaging is going straight in the garbage anyway. Botulism is almost certainly not a thing he needs to be actually concerned about on any level.

Huh. Alright, guess there is a lot from the flurry of cleaning he’d done to make the place more up to new-Bro’s standards. That’s not bad at all, but Dave does have a slight concern about what would happen when he invariably fucks up and spills something. Taking hold of two of the lighter bags, Dave wrinkles his nose at the faint smell of mildew. Gross.

“Uh. Don’t think Walmart sells explosives aside from ammunitions, and I’m not exactly legal to be acquiring either of those. Why can’t I grab ethyl alcohol on my own though? Not like I’m going to get carded for cleaner poison, they save that for the aerosolized shit so I can’t huff it and or homebrew my own explosives, like I wouldn’t be satisfied by a thing of Coke and jamming a pack of Mentos down its neck as if that wasn’t a goddamn tragic waste of both. Also not to be a pedantic little bitch about things but you can’t just say chemicals dude everything is chemicals, water is a chemical, you’re chemicals, I’m chemicals getting tickled by biologically sourced electricity until they wiggle in a fun way and allow me to complain about your lack of decent delineation on something as all encompassing as chemicals. I mean is there a purity content check or is it more reactivity versus toxicity? Grease is incredibly reactive to fire but that’s not going to remove the massive draw of bacon flavorings for me.”

It is one of the superstore Walmarts, so that’s not a bad plan. “Dude. That thing hasn’t been operational for an entire consecutive month in years. I’m pretty sure Bro stole all kinds of parts from it every time it got fixed up.”

•

Despite Dave honestly being a bit of a pedantic bitch, he’s a little tickled by his spiel. He grabs the remaining three bags and heads outside.

“I’m not tellin’ ya to not buy it, ‘m telling ya it has to go through me. Need to know what’s in the house. Suddenly ‘m grabbin’ that ethyl alcohol and gettin’ my mouth real fuckin’ clean.” His voice is a soft, murmuring drawl as they pad down the stairs; for once, it doesn’t seem like Dirk is in a hurry." After a brief hesitation, he pokes Dave in the shoulder.

“And you fuckin’ know what I mean. I’m not savvy with wakin’ up to a sudden fire cause you thought liquid nitrogen was fun and started experimentin’.” Not that he can think of a deadly mix on the top of his head.

They head outside (the guard seems suitably shocked they actually have trash), and Dirk seems to know exactly where the trashcans are. Of course he does, since he found it in one of the mails. He dumps it in, encouraging Dave to put the bags in the right ones. After that, he starts walking (the right way) towards Walmart.

“About the elevator though. If we have the parts, I’ll fix it. 'll probably make it so much better they’ll have mechanics all over the globe stunned.” He’s not one to brag usually, but he really is more than okay at mechanical stuff. “Shoulda checked for missin’ parts before we went out…” his voice trails off as he starts thinking. Maybe he can theorize what’s missing…?

•

The quiet tone suits him just fine, it’s more than enough to hear and it isn’t enough to startle now that he’s expecting it. Dave rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to answer in that little silence before realizing what’s coming. He doesn’t jump, because other-Bro fucking projects his intention a year ahead of the actual movement, and he doesn’t draw away because that would be as majorly uncool as refusing a fist bump. Dave is notably tense though. Bro wasn’t exactly the biggest on casual touching in a way that didn’t involve a few pounds of force behind it. It was more likely that he might leave something for him instead of actual person to person contact.

He pretends he’s just waiting for Dirk to finish speaking, not that he was preventing himself from rubbing at the spot on his shoulder like the man had just smeared something on him. It’s not like he never touches people, human contact is inevitable in a packed school whether he likes it or not, it’s just. Well. He still calls Bro to mind.

Spinning around, he launches both bags into the appropriate container so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself struggling to properly lift them because his arms are already sore from the way down. Swordplay is a lot different from endurance weights. Dave’s back hurts already, and he has second thoughts about his binder because that’s not going to help any. “Right. Yeah, maybe don’t take a swig of random bottle and containers then, I can’t be held accountable for not toddler-proofing the place. Pinkie promise not to make mustard gas in the bathroom.” He hasn’t decided if he’ll actually follow that rule yet. Depends how he feels when he gets to the check out lanes.

•

He’s people watching now. Not nearly so many at this time, but they are in the city. His eyes follow people, noting who has earbuds, who is clearly a drunk tourist, and who is just drunk. Dave seems alright with the silence for now.

Dirk just grunts in what can both be exasperation and humor. Willfully ignoring the point just means he won that conversation.

Since they seem to be able to have a pretty nice, comfortable silence, Dirk does some people watching as well. A couple passes by him, and he’s fascinated. They walk in synch, talking in low voices and giggling. Seeing people in general now feels like he’s in a movie, and he’s surprised that people _do_ move like in movies, like, it’s not an exaggeration or anything. He could never be certain what was play and what was real.

But of course, he can’t keep his gaze off of Dave for too long either. He’s walking a little straighter than usual, and it’s not until halfway to Walmart that he realizes it’s probably cause he’s wearing a binder.

Right. This Dave hasn’t gone through top-surgery. He couldn’t see any kind of T in the bathroom either, but maybe he keeps it somewhere safe? He guesses it’s not really any of his business.

He eyes the way his shirt only barely gives away where the binder starts and ends, then up to his shoulders, then down to his shoes. His shirt is full of spots, both from grease and blood. Hm.

There are a couple times Dirk goes tense, when some of the drunk people tries to engage him in talk- and at one point, he punted a proper drunkard in the stomach. He moves on as if it’s normal, but he walks a little stiffer after that.

When they come to the entrance to the Walmart, he stops up a little. God damn it’s huge.

•

Dave doesn’t notice Dirk’s gaze, so unused to walking with someone that he doesn’t think to suppress the gentle bobbing of his head to a beat only he can hear. It’s not even close to a noticeable trait to him when they’re out and about. Other people have certainly never bothered him about it.

When the blow lands, Dave jerks aside and out of the range of both Dirk and the offending inebriated, soon to be puking person he’d fended off. He joins him on the sidewalk again a good few feet later, but only right on the edge of it in case second-Bro decided to take out his twitchiness on a more available target. He didn’t like drunk people either, and didn’t hold it against him, but that doesn’t mean he likes the show of force any.

Not slowing down with him, Dave walks on and assumes they’ll be splitting up. That’s why not-Bro had gone over how to get ahold of him right? His fingers tap out a quick, bouncy rhythm on one thigh as he considers the possibility of frozen food. Just a little premade something as a treat before he gets back to saving and sticking to high calorie dried goods. The more fuel in the thing the better, so long as it wasn’t entirely packed in sugar. That would make him hungry. Maybe he could pick up a new highlighter so he can stop borrowing them from whoever he sits by.

•

Dirk almost has the mind to call Dave back, his monkey-brain telling him it’s a really bad idea to go alone to this new enclosed space.

But hell, Dave can do whatever he wants, and Dirk _needs_ to chill the fuck out and get a grip of himself, so his eyes only follow Dave as he slips into one of the aisles and disappear. He shakes his hands a little and strokes a hand up and down his sleeve before spotting a shopping cart.

He needs that.

’ _Dear customers_ -’ – oh god oh fuck- ok. Who was that? - Fuck. No, it’s chill. Just someone on the speakers. A broadcast. It’s a little spookier without ‘Dirty Little Secret’ playing in the background.

Grabbing a cart is as instructed online. Walking about-- what in the fucking fuck. There seems to be some kind of unwritten rule about where to move your cart when people pass, and Dirk clunks into more people than he’s willing to admit. Actually, he gets so frustrated and distracted by it that his shopping-list just doesn’t register as important anymore.

Instead, he struggles to navigate the maze that is Walmart. Suddenly there’s clothes, and suddenly there’s frozen foods, and is there _no_ divide?? Is that a fucking lawnmower??? He sucks a breath in as he collides with yet another customer, sweat starting to bead coldly on his forehead. Someone who seems his own age snickers at him and adds another bottle of clear liquid into their cart; probably alcohol.

Fuck.

“Excuse me, _sir_. You need to move.” He moves away without answering her, and she huffs and is on her way. She looks like a nurse, but she’s wearing normal clothes. For a moment he finds hilarity in the possibility that _he_ might suffer an actual seizure. He finds solace by the cookies, parking up his cart and breathing slowly in and out through his nose.

Ridiculous. What the fuck. How is he gonna function normally if he can’t even fucking shop? Look at the list. Fucking… Orange Jaffas. Ok. Cookies, nice. Now _find it_.

… Fuck, there are _so many cookies_ …

•

Dave wanders around for a little while, staring at things and running mental math on how long things would last. Ughhhhh. He can’t do this willy nilly. If he gets a nice spreadsheet going he can work through this, but for now he shouldn’t rush things and waste that gift from new-Bro. Probably better if he goes on his own time anyway, so he doesn’t have to slow him down comparing price per unit vs caloric intake.

His back is hurting worse, so after grabbing a box of cup noodles (fuck yes, nobody wanted the lime shrimp flavor, more for him _and_ that’s the scurvy risk taken care of) he circles back around to check out the bakery overstock, passing by the snacks- and Bro. Younger-Bro.

Stopping just out of view, Dave considers being normal about things for a moment, then summarily dismisses that. He wants to see what the fuck tiny-Bro is getting up to in his first occupied grocery store, so he walks about halfway down the isle behind him to watch as he pretends to consider some off brand chips of a novelty flavor. It’s not creeping if he’s openly standing there.

Does small-Bro like cookies?? That’s a dumb question, everyone likes them in some form. Dave wonders what his favorite is. This Bro seems like the kind to have favorites.

•

After a small pause and intense searching with his eyes, he sees the Jaffas. He puts them delicately into the cart after looking at the back. Ok. Half a point to Dirk Strider. He could actually call it a day. He’s being funny; he can’t call it a day with a fucking pack of cookies.

Maybe holding the list a bit harder than necessary, he decides that experimental food shit is out of the question right now; he needs the essentials first. Orange soda.

He looks up in hopes of getting a hint from the signs that hang there, frowns uncertainly, turns, and bumps into _yet_ another customer. He hunches his shoulders a little, but moves on without apologizing. With extreme caution, he turns at the end of the aisle, eyes on peel for more people. When he comes to the aisle with soda, he opens his mouth a little. That is… a _shit ton_ of soda…

He leaves the cart a little as he walks up and down the row of sodas; all brands he knows, but tastes he can only _imagine_ the taste of. What the fuck does coca cola taste like? It’s _dark brown_. He rocks back and forth on his heels as he reads the back of a can, then puts that and a twelve pack of orange soda into the cart. He bought the brand he had, just cause he wants to taste it with carbonation.

When he walks past the frozen goods, he stops up and looks at the whole frozen fish on display. His brows climbs up in a ‘what the fuck’ kind of way, and he reads avidly. What the fuuuuck… There are whole fish, but also _tiny pieces_ of fish wrapped up in plastic. No sardines or anything like that here. He laments his losses. They also dare to display fish where they’ve cut off large portions of meat, bone or intestines; a huge waste. Insulted, he walks away.

This continues on for a while, his cart slowly filling up. Every time there’s broadcast he flinches, and almost every time someone with a cart passes him, he manages to bump them. His hands get whiter and whiter against the handle of the cart, until he finally gives and sends Dave a text.

TT: How are you coming along dude.

It’s almost intoxicating. He’s just… watching Bro. The guy doesn’t seem to have a clue. Dave is completely, utterly free to openly observe him like never before. This feels voyeuristic enough to bring heat to his cheeks, which he _knows_ is utterly ridiculous, it’s the exact same view everyone else has and they aren’t making it weird. But it’s (a little) Bro and he’s never had the chance to examine the way he looks at things, or walks around, or the way that he just _marvels_ at everyday items.

It’s not Bro, obviously. But he can see it in him, touching the way he carried himself despite the difference in stature, or how measured certain movements are. He notes the way he jumps at the announcements, how agonizingly oblivious he is of things that are second nature to Dave, like how he’s supposed to shift a few inches this way or that to allow more space between him and the other shopping carts. He’s tempted to step in, but that would be awkward as hell ~~and he wants to keep watching the way Dirk is gripping the cart like a lifeline~~.

Dave isn’t sure exactly how long it’s been when his phone vibrates and he glances at it. Oh. Looks like he should wrap it up. He only has the noodles for now, but that’s fine. No need to blow everything in one place.

TG: ive got everything i need now so ready when you are

He waits a little longer.

TG: hey i can see you actually hold on

There. Perfectly natural for him to stride on over with his noodles. “Sup.”

•

Dirk breathes out through his mouth in relief, then straightens at the second message, discreetly looking around.

“… sup.” He can’t help relaxing a little at the sight of Dave; it feels a smidgeon safer. “Drop your shit in and let’s go.” He taps his finger against the cart and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

They walk towards the cashier, and Dirk goes through the steps in his head. Stuff on the belt, beeps, he collects it in the back. Straight forward. He pays with the card. Card in the slot, pin-code. He remembers the pin-code.

When they end up in a line, he feels clammy. The people from the liquor aisle sees him and nudge at each other, and the hairs on Dirk’s neck stands on edge. If they try shit, he _will_ punch them.

Not caring if people see, he puts his wares on the belt as quick as he can; a lot of canned goods, the soda, cleaning articles, a pair of slippers, beef jerky in spades, poptarts, one orange chocolate bar. He taps the spot behind his wares for Dave to put his noodles down, not taking no for an answer. They’re not taking up more of the line like this.

Silently he pays, utterly ignoring the cashier who tries to communicate something at him. He grabs the bags handed to him and starts filling, then stalks out as soon as he sees Dave follow him.

•

Normally, he’d chalk it up to a power play of some sort, but having had his free peepshow, it’s a little harder to put much belief behind that. Especially with how he’s seen those little tics pick up now that he’s allowed himself to watch Dirk so closely without the lens of being on the lookout. He almost wishes he could turn off that awareness because he can’t stop looking no matter how uncool it is. He taps on things the way Dave used to, before Bro taught him not to.

Trailing behind just a little, it’s hard to resist the urge to hang back and _keep_ watching like he had, but he’s certainly be noticed then. It feels weird not to carry anything, but not-Bro had just piled every damn bag into his arms with laser focus. Dave hopes none of them rip and send the cans rolling away.

“…how’d it go?” He forces himself to catch up to new-Bro’s side.

•

Dirk looks back to Dave, who seems fine. He envies him something fierce.

He just nods in answer to Dave’s question. Objectively, he got the things he needed done. Subjectively, it was _awful_ , and he dreads the next time.  
“Check-out was as they said.” He manages to squeeze out, now that they’re out in the open and alone again.

The amount of food is enough for the plastic bags to sag a little, but it doesn’t feel like they’ll snap. Which is great, or the people on the websites encouraging to bring his own bags would have been right. It’s still a little heavy, but nothing he can’t deal with.

“Bought a coke.” As if it’s something novel. He presses his lips together; it sounds hella pathetic to get excited about a can of fucking soda. He wants to laugh it off as a joke, but he’s finding that he’s just not very funny.

•

“They?” He seriously considers just letting it go, because fuck he looks kinda stressed. Now that Dave himself isn’t so out of his element, and new-Bro _is_ , he’s getting the weirdest feeling that he should try and comfort him, which isn’t right at all. Even young Bro is better than that.

He’ll gently correct him on the bagging methods later. “Like the soda or like a coke as in any soda and not a particular one, because if in your universe that’s okay I’m going to lose it. We already have enough of that going on here already without things getting any more mixed up than they are. Pepsi simply cannot be a subset of Coke, the laws of nature won’t allow it.”

•

“… Walmart.com.” He shrugs a little, trying to temper the sting to his cheeks. At least it’s dark out.

As usual, Dave’s rambling soothes him somewhat. It gives him time to lower his hackles, and also gives him something to focus on. "I meant as… " ugh, pathetic, fucking dumb, “Coca cola, _the_ soda, tm.” he shrugs again, changing his grip a little, “I only had orange soda, so. Need to know what the fucking fuss is about.”

•

…he can’t be blushing, can he? No, that’s just someone’s taillight bouncing off them. It’s not worth entertaining the idea. “Gotcha, glad to know you’re a man of taste. Now I’m a firm believer in citrus drinks but it’s sounding to me like you’ve never had root beer either. We gotta ease you into the cinnamon flavor coke and crazy shit like blue raspberry flavored, or buttered caramel. Don’t try the hotdog flavored one, it’s not worth it.” Dave may or may not have wasted some cash on the truly hideous novelty sodas.

“Why only orange soda though? Did a flat float up to you?”

•

Glad that they’re not focusing on his fucking inadequacy in soda, he’s quick to elaborate, “Nah, bro fixed a frankly disgustingly large vault of soda to the beams of my flat for me to discover. Had to crack that bad boy open like it was mission impossible five. Only had the one kind tho. Good for scruvy.” He twitches his lips up at the repeated joke.

“Like I told you though, couple hundred years and that shit was pretty much juice. Still kinda addicting though.” Addicting enough that he drank his last soda on his twentieth birthday.

Dirk doesn’t break a sweat as they climb up the stairs again, but does feel a slight strain on his arms. It gives him some vindictive pleasure to live out the trope of ‘I’m a man, I don’t fetch twice’.

•

Dave, meanwhile, feels vaguely naked at the sight of the other just taking it all, including his own small portion of goods. “Wait, Bro?” There can’t have been multiples of him in this one’s universe, could there? The question itself is absurd. “I figured you were on the tail end of things, not hundreds of years past humanities expiration date, though I guess I’d be pretty dumb to mark the end of society by the end of soda. Could just be a relic of bygone industrial eras.”

•

Wait, did he say-? Fuck, he said Bro. It comes to him so naturally- he lets his mouth run for _one_ second, and he’s spilling the beans like it’s… God damnit.

“… Well, no. It was kind of a long time after shit went down. Five hundred years, give or take.” Maybe the shock of that will distract him. He adds, to sweeten the pot, “if this was my universe, we’d pretty much be toast right about now.”

He sets down a bag to open the door to their flat again, slips off his shoes and walks to the pantry to stack up their new set of canned dinners, setting Dave’s noodles in with the couple of cups Dirk had left.

•

“Oh.” He was imagining more like the smoldering wreckage of civilization was turning to ash, less like not-Bro was part of something entirely separate. “So, hold on, what-” Dave is crunching the numbers, and that’s plenty distracting, but it doesn’t catch on his mind the way new-Bro is taking off his fucking shoes like it’s no big deal, like he somehow isn’t going to be fully geared up and ready to go at every waking moment. In front of Dave no less.

He doesn’t have a thing for voyeurism, or feet, but it still feels like he’s getting away with something he shouldn’t every time Dave sees him in any state less than fully dressed and composed. It wouldn’t do that to him with anybody else, he’s sure of it. It’s just a matter of getting used to it.

He succeeds in fighting back the way his shoulder seem to want to slump when other-Bro just takes the noodles _he_ was going to have and sets them up with his own. Fair is fair, it’s not like Dave paid for them or even carried them home. He’ll just get off the bus a couple stops early on Monday afternoon, it’s basically Sunday already. Not too bad of a wait- he shouldn’t even need to sip his apple juice if he plays his cards right. Dave looks away.

“Right, guess Crocker and all that wouldn’t last long enough for an alien attack that far in the future. Impressive that the soda lasted that long at all, carbonation or no. So where did your Bro get them then?”

•

Welp, he sure didn’t forget about his Bro.

To buy himself some time and gather the right words, he slips his slippers out of their plastic and stuffs his feet in them. He feels like a Japanese waifu in the best way.

“Fuck if I know, really. He musta bought ’em in bulk. I’m more interested in how he got that shit attached to metal beams before the water came flooding.” A white lie; he died before the water came flooding.

He sets the soda on the counter, not willing to put it in the fridge to cool down. He holds the coke, looking down at it thoughtfully. Dave is nosey, even though he tries to pretend not to be. It’s etched in every line of his face, the way he hungrily stores all info he can. Kind of like him, honestly.

“He died way before my time. He set up my sweet ass crib, though.” There. No mystery about it. Dead, gone, unimportant. Even thinking like that hurts him.

•

That just makes the timeline even harder to follow. His brows furrow. “So. You had your stuff set up for you a half millennia ahead of time, and were the last living human on earth if I’m getting this right here. How the hell did you survive- actually scratch that, how did you even get there?”

How could he be anything but achingly curious about new-Bro’s origins? The more he finds out, the stranger it is.

“Guess that’s a pretty genius way to make sure you got your vitamin C though, that must’ve held up like- well like fuckin’ soda.”

•

This truly sets it in stone for Dirk; Dave has _no_ idea about Sburb.

He’s happy for the dude, really- a life without the knowledge that his earth was gonna bite the the dust must be pretty fucking nice. He stamps down on the jealousy that’s rearing its ugly head. Dave must also be hella full of questions.

This Dirk must have kept the whole thing silent. Or maybe Sburb just wasn’t a thing here? That doesn’t really make sense either though. While he doesn’t really know how neither he or Roxy got stranded in post-apocalypic Earth, they both knew it had to do with game shenanigans. His Bro told him as much.

As uncomfortable he is with admitting he doesn’t know, Dave probably won’t shut up about it otherwise.

“There was time-shenanigans at work, of course. Bro knew when and where I’d be, and he got shit ready for me. I don’t really remember how I… _came_ there, I was a fuckin’ baby.” Dirk cracks open the coke and takes sniff at it. It doesn’t smell like anything, only kind of sweet. “I’m not sure if even he knew why he… uh, knew what he knew.”

Smooth.

•

Bros upon Bros upon Bros. It’s Bro all the way down.

Dave takes this in, hazarding a glance at the fridge as if he was sharing a conspiratorial look. He has a feeling Bro’s unused parts will be a better companion than actual Bro in his prime.

“So. You just, what. Photosynthesized until you were big enough to dive into the ocean and catch seagulls with your brand new baby teeth?” That’s a little out there, even for literally hopping dimensions. He’s had it drilled into him at school that babies are hell, don’t ever do premarital sex or your life will be ruined and you will die, but really the only part that stuck was that he cannot be trusted with a child, and a slight sense of awe at how Bro apparently managed well enough on his own. Dave had left the robo-baby in his locker overnight and taken the F.

•

Dirk snorts despite himself. It’s a funny imagery, and not too off either.

“Nah. I had a couple’a robots preventing me from diving into my untimely death.” He takes a brave swig of the coke and grimaces automatically at the unfamiliar taste. “Ugh.”

He sets the can down, only to pick up the bar of chocolate. He fiddles with it, obviously not used to opening one. “That kinda tasted like… Dunno what I was expecting from something that supposedly had drugs in it in its original stages.”

•

The combination of the strangely clean space, second-Bro’s domestic ass slippers, and the absurd story has Dave so out of sorts that he unthinkingly gestures to the soda and asks, “Mind if I finish it off then?”

Uncool. His ears are going red hot. “I mean it’s an acquired taste yeah but somethin’ about hot coke just hits different y’know maybe you’d be one of the people that likes it microwaves or on ice. Temperature changes the whole experience. Maybe some Sierra Mist would be more your style, Coca Cola doesn’t exactly have any resemblance to what you’re pro’lly used to.” The robots are dropped for now, because he can only handle so much at once.

•

With a slow blink, Dirk gives Dave a nod. “Sure.”

Is that some kind of concession? Or, is Dave testing him in some way? Dave asking to drink his coke is pretty out of character from what he’s seen from him so far, but honestly it tastes weird enough that it’s not like it’s a huge loss.

Wait-

“People microwave this shit? That can’t be real.” Soda is drunk _cold_ , everyone knows that. He leans his hip on the counter, tearing his gaze away to frown at the chocolate again. Fucking wrapping. He tears the top open with a firm little rip.

•

Well he can’t exactly back out now can he. Plus, soda. Dave tries not to look over or under-excited as he grabs the can off the counter with the faint gladness that he hadn’t dared to ask while little-Bro was still holding the damn thing. He takes a sip. That’s soda alright.

“Okay more like stovetop to really cook off the bubbles but trust me people do not follow the intended drinking guidelines with just about any beverage, sure most people prefer it chilly but there’s a subset of people that would consider it a good and hot wake up drink on par with super sweet coffee. Also microwaving it in the can would cause fires and explosions.”

“You got a sweet tooth?” Dave wonders how you could keep up a sugar addiction when sugar is no longer in production. Then again, orange soda sure wasn’t lacking it.

•

Dirk’s eyes follows Dave as he takes a sip, the words ‘indirect kiss’ coming unbidden to him. It’s fine though, cause they’re bros.

“… That still sounds one hundred percent fake, but ok.” He fiddles with the packaging again, opening the whole bar of chocolate in all its glory. It wasn’t the biggest bar there, but still pretty sizeable. It smells pretty nice.

“Dunno.” He’s pretty sure Dave would have given him a huge trunk full of candy if he could, but there are few things that still taste good after 500 years; and what little he did find that Dirk could eat, Dirk probably ate before his cognitive functions kicked in.

Not a complete barbarian, Dirk breaks off a strip of chocolate, then a piece. He moves it a little towards Dave in invitation as well; not that he seems to need it much.

He pops the square into his mouth. He goes a little bug-eyed behind the shades. It’s cheap chocolate, probably 3% cocoa and 97% sugar. The sugar burns his mouth with its sweetness, makes his cheeks hurt.

It tastes pretty good.

There’s so much happening in there that he barely tastes the orange in it. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or not. “It’s good.”

•

“Listen. The first thing you gotta learn about the world at large is that for every rule there’s people who will whip their schlong out at the first opportunity for the express purpose of pissing all over it. Hot ice cream exists in _multiple_ forms, and honestly? It kinda fucks. Like I could get a little funky with deep fried ice cream y’know, I’m a hot blooded American you could deep fry about anything and I’d give it a go, but that’s actually better held together than you’d think.” Goddammit. He’s made himself hungry. Whatever, he still has the soda, that will take care of his own sugar cravings.

Dave naturally twitches backwards when other-Bro moves in his direction, but it’s not a fearful jerk away this time so much as a reflexive maintenance of the already too-small space between them. It takes another couple of beats for him to register that young-Bro is offering him something _more_ than what he has already. Damn. Must be in a good mood from actually getting home after his first real shopping experience. The moment has passed though, so he just shakes his head slightly. “Nah, I couldn’t deprive you of your fix, I’m good here.” Dave lifts his can slightly. “I’m more of a caramel kinda guy salty and sweet is where it’s at plain chocolate needs to be real good stuff top of the class level to be worth my time and at that point it’s just not worth it.”

•

“Hmm…” He lets Dave blabbering wash over him as he pushes his tongue up against the bits of chocolate that hasn’t melted yet. Ironically, he’s seen a lot of cooking shows, and kinda gets what they mean about people loving chocolate for the consistency.

Amused, he only answers a “It’s not plain though, it’s orange.” He’ll remember Dave’s preference though. He grabs a can of orange-soda, which he opens with much more expertise. He doesn’t make a face when he takes a swig this time. He might still prefer it flat though, not that he’s gonna tell Dave that.

“I should go check to see what parts the elevator is missing.” He says that, but he’s not even finished stocking up the stuff he’s bought. He sighs as he takes another sip, “fuck, I forgot oil.”

•

“Okay but is it orange orange or orange candy flavored because- actually hold the phone you haven’t ever tried the real deal have you? Fuck, I should’ve got you a lemon to bite into, you have the unique experience of having adult cognition for all these firsts. Not that unique considering lots of people just don’t have access but y’know, unique for here at least.”

He’s not really drinking his soda, because his stomach is doing odd flips. “Don’t think motor lube is going to fix up belts or whatever the fuck Bro yoinked out of that bad boy. Preferred the stairs and also to discourage literally anybody coming up that doesn’t really, really want it. Personally lowered the quality of life for an unknowable amount of people, but they’ve probably got killer thighs now, so the trade off could be worse.” Are they always going be able to just talk to each other like this? Sure, Dave is doing most of the talking, but that’s how it is with anyone. It’s strange.

•

“I doubt I’d be good entertainment.” But his lip quirks a little anyway. He can’t help it; Dave’s hilarious.

Dirk shrugs and sighs a little, giving his back a little stretch before starting to put cans into their new proper place in the cabinet. “And I use oil for other things than a broken elevator. Oil is an essential,” Dirk huffs out what can be an amused breath, though he still keeps his voice very soft, “but it’s good to know he went for the big stuff. Bet he saved a few bucks.”

Right now, Dirk’s speaking pretty clearly despite his soft tone. It’s much easier when he can focus on it a little, or when there’s little to distract him; he’s even got the little twang. Still, he knows he probably don’t sound native. He appreciates Dave filling in the silences, cause he sure don’t want to.

He wonders idly if Dave is getting anything out of this though. He’s done being informative, and he’s heard from pretty much all his friends that his preferred subjects gets very bland. Unless he rambles, which he can’t do face to face.

Fuck, how dumb is it that he hopes he’s entertaining a 16 year old? Still…

•

“Bullshit, run your mind through any eventuality which is not funny as fuck. You might turn out to be some freak that will just happily gnaw through a lemon peel and all like it’s an apple, or you’re completely blindsided by what undiluted citrus is actually like at sixty percent power. Can’t let you at citronella just yet.” He shrugs. “Dunno what Bro actually used that shit for but then again it’s not like I ever got into the inner mechanisms of his rigging because I’m fairly sure it’d be about as safe as a five year old working those brand new industrial machines and oh boy it probably isn’t at all dangerous to put such squishy human fingers so near unstoppable metal parts.”

There’s an odd feeling in the back of his skull, listening to Dirk like this. It’s not bad by any means, but it’s foreign and he finds himself nodding along to the other’s words to encourage him to keep speaking.

•

Another low little huff of a laugh, and he shrugs. “I s’pose that’s true. And he probably used it when he was sharpening his katana or somethin’.”

He gently closes the door to the cabinet and starts unpacking the cleaning supplies he got. Some pretty harsh stuff, cause he _is_ fixing all the rusty parts around the house. He doesn’t know why this Dirk was so sloppy with it, but that’s not going to happen to him. Call it the legacy of his robo parents.

“I also wonder what he could have used it for. I haven’t seen any machinery that would use what I normally associate with elevators here…” He brings a hand up to gently tap the middle knuckle of his index-finger against his lower lip, murmuring even softer, “maybe it’s a special edition elevator since the building is so tall. A model like that … Maybe if he was distributing it…”

He lowers his head a little and lets his dexterous fingers pluck out brushes to clean pipes with eyes peeking out from over his shades; they’re half-lidded in thought. “Guess I’ll check it out tonight so it’s ready to get the new fridge in…”

He looks up, accidentally locking gaze with Dave over his shades- his heart jolts a little, but he tries a little smile, “'ll just take the parts that makes it work out again.”

•

“Leave it to him to make an absurdly overcomplicated rig when a whetstone would suffice.” The way his words end dully leaves a pleasant fuzziness, like someone is stuffing flannel into his head, makes Dave lean against the counter with a more genuinely relaxed posture than he’s had in the past few days, weeks, even. He doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels a weight as if he was about to fall asleep, but not exactly _tired_. He knows what tired feels like. He should be tired.

Then Dirk looks at him and-

_Fuck_. His heart absolutely skips a beat, and he’s incredibly glad that his own shades are firmly in place because otherwise he would have seen the jolt that brief bit of eye contact gave him. Normally he’s fine to avoid it, nobody can tell where he’s looking and the sunglasses usually make people not want to try to stare him in the eye, but it felt more like not-Bro’s gaze held him in place instead of pinning him there with a sharp weight. His eyes are so orange it has to be a trick of the light.

There’s no suppressing the tiny shiver of when he not only keeps talking like that, but smiles at Dave, right after tapping his fingertip to his lip. It’s a little awkward looking, but not unsettlingly forced. New. To him at least, when it comes to this face. Lots of things young-Bro does are completely foreign, this is just like all the others. He can roll with it, he tells himself. “Uhuh.”

•

Yeah, he thought so. Bland as cardboard, and Dave is not interested in listening to Dirk drone on about _elevators_.

Dirk blinks and looks to the side to break his gaze somewhat gracefully, and pushes his shades back up. He wishes he had red eyes like Dave, a pure, symbolically strong colour. Orange is just a light brown, barely unusual. AR also told him it brings out his freckles in a really unflattering manner, and he hasn’t been able to say anything against it.

Finally finished with putting things in their place, he murmurs “Well, that’s that.” He glances around a little, to gather up things he needs to do tonight. He notices the paper bag on top of the fridge; huh. He thought Dave brought that to his room? He’ll check the bag later and see if there’s anything left.

“I’m gonna go check the elevator now, I guess. Uhh.” He starts gathering up tools, opening up a drawer he designated as ‘basic tools’ drawer. “…” He doesn’t know how to end the conversation.

Maybe because he doesn’t want to.

•

Dave gives another little nod, waiting for him to continue, but it seems more like other-Bro wants to move on to more important things than humoring the silence Dave abruptly realizes he let hang for far too long. This is embarrassing. Maybe if he keeps getting flustered often enough his body will stop overreacting and changing his color palette on a whim whenever another weird thing happens.

He’s struck by the strangest urge to follow again, like he’d done in the store, only closer. “Oh. Yeah, yeah that’s cool have fun and mind the emergency breaks and all that wouldn’t be great for you to be climbin’ around the shaft and then aw shit that’s the part that got got wouldn’t y’ know, and I dunno about you but I’ve seen way too many movies where people get cut in half from foolin’ around with that stuff.” Dave hopes it doesn’t sound like he doubts second-Bro’s mechanical prowess, so he backpedals. “I mean it’s obviously nothin’ like the movies if things followed that kind of logic window washers for skyscrapers would all have parachutes as part of the standard outfit.”

•

Dirk relaxes a little again as Dave starts talking again. He keeps turning his body towards Dave as he talks, unable to stop stealing glances at him. It’s a novelty, and he doesn’t think it’ll stop being so for a very long time. The tone of his voice, the way his speech pattern enters a rhythm after the first sentence, the way his hair is fluffed up…

It almost pains him to not film him, so he can soak in all the details again when he’s not being watched back. He kind of wants to watch a clip from his Bro, just to see the similarities more clearly.

“I won’t do anything if it turns out it lacks too many parts.” He hefts up the little bundle of tools, padding over towards the exit.

“Lock the door, I brought the key.”

•

Dave sags against the counter tiny-Bro makes his way out, clutching the can of soda and trying to recover from whatever _that_ was. He should sleep. “Yeah, good luck man. Have fun.” That sounds lame as hell but he doesn’t have anything else to say without spiraling into a much too revealing tangent about shafts. He’d barely managed to avoid that pitfall the first go around. Dave sips the soda and wishes it were just a few degrees warmer.

•

Dirk answers with a wordless salute with his free hand, walking towards the elevator with determination. His first mechanical fight vs. his previous self. The first tool he brings out is his crowbar. There are almost not-there marks from where Bro predictably forced his way in. He’s just as careful.

It turns out fixing the elevator is not beyond hope; that is, it would have been for the worker who probably came here to check it out, but for Dirk there are things to put in place, easy fixes with the right tools.

He throws himself happily enough into the work, the silence of midnight, the small thrill of a new project and the hum of machinery lulling him into a calm he hasn’t felt in a while. As time drags on, he softly starts beatboxing in time with the work he’s doing. No words or the like, just sounds, from mechanical whirrs to a bass that vibrates in his chest. It feels very relieving to do it, once he remembers to.

Of course, what Dirk counts as an easy fix might be just that, but it’s also time-consuming. The sun gets up, and Dirk continues working, cleaning parts and wiring the mess into something akin to pretty.

Had he put on an alarm of any kind he would have known that the night was very over, and noon is starting.


	3. Chapter 3

Dave goes to bed after dicking around online a little longer and avoiding the mounting anxiety about how to explain _any_ of this to his friends. He knows it would sound insane, and any incriminating pictures he could send as proof could be used against them if somehow someone else caught on to the Dirk swap-out act. It would be wild to even accuse them of it really, but. The worry is still there.

He doesn’t sleep very well, but he still sleeps enough that he’s lamenting the loss of a perfectly good Sunday. He’s not doing his homework, fuck it, he’s got so much more on his plate. First on the agenda, since new-Bro doesn’t seem to be around, is shopping. Properly. He’s checked on the sales online and he’s ready to go, right up until he steps out the door and sees a certain someone hard at work on the elevator.

“Christ. You really just got right back on that huh? Must be some sort of fun, or you _really_ hate the idea of hiring some movers to throw their backs out to haul up a fridge.”

Since he heard the door open and close, he’s not surprised when Dave talks to him; they’re the only ones on this floor, and he’d have heard people in the stairs.

•

Right back? Hmm. Throw backs. The words floats in and out of his brain. He just needs to clean up this bolt, which is gonna show on the interior wall.

“mmm…” He hums noncommittally, delicately placing it where it belong and tightening it. “Finished. Just need to…” He trails off, picking up another bolt. The electric stuff was fine, but the motor over the elevator was shit. He ended up pulling it apart and shaping the pieces so that they fit better and more efficiently together.

Wondering why Dave is here checking in on him, but reluctant to move away from his work, he rasps, “You goin’ somewhere…?”

•

On one hand, Dave doesn’t want to bother him by distracting young-Bro from the work he so clearly was intent on, but on the other, he _did_ ask Dave a question. He can’t just fuck off now. “Yeah, just hitting up the stores now that it’s lunchtime and they’re probably shuffling inventory around, prepping for Monday and all that, see what’s around.” And get out of the apartment. He’s not in the mood for a strife, and he needs to take a break from all the surgery videos. It probably would have been a whole lot worse if he hadn’t already gotten into preserving things himself, even if said things were generally a lot less bloody and work intensive than Bro would be.

He peers in at Dirk, and once again he gets that truly bizarre urge to fuss over new-Bro like he wasn’t far more capable of taking care of himself than Dave could ever hope to manage. “How much longer are you goin’ to have to mess around with that? You can just wait for maintenance.”

•

Lunch…? Dirk gently puts down the bolt to check his phone, cause that can’t be right-- but no, there it is. a bit past twelve on a Sunday. “huh…”

When Dave dares suggest letting other people finish his work for him he scoffs a little, stretching with a couple of audible cracks, “Like I said, it’s finished. These are finishing touches,” he motions limply towards a pile of bolts he still hasn’t gotten to yet, adding somewhat loftily, “we don’t _need_ maintenance.”

While he’s at it, he gives the leg that was under him a slow stretch. Fucking ow, it’s fallen asleep at some point, and now it’s like a fleshpuppet full of needles.

“… Have fun.” Dave said it yesterday, so it must be a good way to end a conversation with him. It’s on a positive note too, which is… nice.

•

Yeah, that tone is more in line with what he would expect from Bro, young or otherwise. “Uhuh. Finishing touches tend to come before the thing is finished but I’m pretty pumped for this new method you’ve cooked up here.” Dave watches him for a few seconds, then nods at the parting words. He’s clearly not wanted here and little-Bro is distracted enough that he probably doesn’t need to be on the lookout for an attack.

“Will do. See you around dude.” Giving a little wave when he’s not sure if Dirk is even looking at him, he takes to the stairs.

Lunch is acquired, a different flavor than the noodles he’d gotten before but almost the same super cheap level of quality, peanut butter, crackers, a few other things that would keep him going between the heartier meals he could get at school. Dave doesn’t spend too long out though. An hour at most (but probably less than that), then he’s coming up the stairs to see if Dirk is still hard at work on whatever is wrong with the elevator. It would be nice not to have to carry his groceries up so many stairs.

•

Dirk just grunts in reply, since he already did kind of say goodbye.

He looks around listlessly, contemplating to get himself some water or noodles, but figures he can just finish this first; so he picks up the bolt again and starts scrubbing.

It doesn’t take long before he’s beatboxing again, clunking a tool against the floor for a bit before using it to tighten yet another bolt; it’s starting to look up- perhaps a bit more futuristic than what the original design was, but he’s sure people are plebeian enough to not notice.

Just as he’s about to start doing a little shine-up on the doors and see if the machinery is working well, he sees Dave coming back up the stairs.

“Buy anything good?”

•

Yeah, he’s having doubts about those “finishing touches” now.

Though he’s curious about the soft sounds he’d managed to catch on his way up the stairs, he’s not going to question Bro’s choice in music. Pausing in front of other-Bro (and a few paces towards the door), Dave half turns to face him. Must want to make sure Dave hasn’t gotten any contraband without his say so.

“Yeah, just some grub for later. Nothing too special.” He’s not used to having to outright hide stuff from Bro. Normally they were cool enough to know not to mess with each others shit, but with all the changes he sure doesn’t trust that everything is as secure as it once was. Sure, they were probably square for Dave grabbing his burger after those ramen cups, but still. He doesn’t want to risk this haul. No telling what that can of soda might cost him down the line.

It’s not like he’s even lying, he’s just reigning in his explanations. It shouldn’t make him this nervous.

Dave unlocks the door to the apartment and slips inside before either of them can get another word out. He has more important things to do than hover around and bother young-Bro. The food is stashed in a shoebox under some clothing in his closet, well, a couple different ones, and along the back of the upper shelf he’s pretty sure is still above eye level for Bro, and a few other choice places. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.

Then he’s back to research. Maybe he should buy the appropriate medical tools; he’d be sure to use them again sometime, and he might feel more confident approaching more more projects like this. Dave’s adjusted his chair so his back isn’t quite to the door anymore. When he’s searching up more “chill lo-fi beats to study to - 1 hour loop” his vague discomfort spikes at the realization that what he _really_ wants is to listen to is the low, steady rhythm of not-Bro’s voice again. That’s pathetic if he ever heard it. Just because this one is more vocal doesn’t mean that Dave has a free pass to Bro Radio 100.0 FM whenever he felt needy.

He turns up the volume of the slightly nasally professor dubbed over the cardiology demo and focuses on those new latin terms instead. It’s not comparable.

•

“Nice…” Fuck, yeah, food.

Dave is gone before he can ask if they’re gonna have a nice nuclear family dinner, turkey with all the trimmings. Well. Ok. Just cause they talked like normal people doesn’t mean they’re besties, obviously.

He looks to the elevator door, considers leaving it like this… But fuck, everything inside is nice now, so he _needs_ this to look good as well. And anyway, this is like… The Strider doors. It’s for their floor, so they should look fucking sparkling, yeah??

So he keeps on chugging along, fixing dents and scratches with immaculate precision. It’s not until he feels a painful clench in his stomach and the elevator works like a dream that he's satisfied enough to call it a job well done. Not caring if it’s a little messy, he stores all his tools under ‘Tools’ in his sylladex and pads back to the apartment. Quiet, besides Dave watching someone on his computer with a nasal tone of voice.

Not sure if he should interrupt, he grabs a couple cans of mushroom soup (extra creamy), pops them open and puts them on the gas-stove. He’s not sure if they actually have a pot of any kind, so doing it Bear Gryllis style is the best he can do at the moment.

While they’re being heated, he walks over to Dave’s door, remembering last minute to knock.

“… You want soup?” It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, but here we are.

•

He swats the pause button at the sound before turning to fully face not-Bro, tabbing away from the exposed innards of someone whose front half of the ribcage has been set aside. It’s kind of funky looking to him, but it was nice how nothing bled like he’d expected.

“…soup.” That has to mean something he’s missing here, but Dave can’t figure out what. “Like, soup soup, the liquified food?” He’s not aware of any nearby take away places that offer soup, unless young-Bro counts ramen as soup. Maybe Olive Garden? It’s not like he’s done anything to warrant that kind of treat though.

•

Oh. He’s looking at dead stuff. That’s fine, Dirk supposes. At least he’s being proactive about the body in their fridge instead of forgetting it like a spoiled child’s lunchbag. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything about it mom, I’ll throw it out now after I finish this round of Smash.

Okay, maybe the two aren’t very connected.

Dirk squints a little: fucking knew it.

“Like, Knorr’s canned extra creamy mushroom soup. I’m warming it up now.”

Maybe he’s being ridiculous? Dave just went shopping, and it’s not long ago they talked about lunch anyway…

“… nevermind.” He tries to say it lightheartedly, but it comes out in his usual deadpan. “I don’t know y’all’s schedule or whatever.” Bad excuse. He feels dull embarrassment.

•

Canned soup?? He’d seen not-Bro grab a fuckton of cans but he wasn’t expecting to get to try any of them, let alone actually warmed up. Not like they have dishware to dump it in, and he knows better than to try to microwave a can. The hell.

Then the possibility is jerked away away from him, and he’s reminded why he absolutely shouldn’t let himself turn into some excitable kid riled up over the idea of something novel. “No, it’s cool. Didn’t have one aside from what school mandated, and only barely meeting that.” Dave sags back into the chair and disguises the motion as just rocking it with one foot. “More of a eat before you pass out kinda deal than following the current cultural guidelines on when it’s acceptable to chow down.”

•

Uhh? Right. Dirk is an absolute asshole here. He shouldn’t have expected them to have… well, he thought, since Dave was so visibly upset about Bro being dead…? Were they even friendly at all?

Disappointed and angry at Dave’s bro, he nods slowly. “Well, ok.” He can’t fault them for basically having the same kind of diet as he has, but… it rubs him the wrong way anyway. Aren’t teenagers supposed to eat people out of their homes or something?

“… I’m heating up two cans though, so. If you feel like you’re passing out…” he shrugs a little and closes the door with a click, padding over to the stove and dipping his finger into one if the cans. Lukewarm.

•

…how the fuck is he heating the cans. God, if Dirk didn’t have a microwave in the future because no electrical grid, well. He can imagine things going very wrong very quickly. The idea of the stove being utilized doesn’t even occur to him until after he shuts off his monitor and pokes his head out the door. Huh.

He’d. Honestly never thought about that? He hadn’t even known the stove was still functional, let alone how to use it, but he’d _definitely_ never considered setting the can directly on it like that. Wouldn’t the labels catch fire or something? Plus the fact that there’s two of them. Was other-Bro making more to make sure that if Dave took him up on his offer, he wouldn’t go hungry himself? Dave’s not that much of a pig to just dig into Dirk’s food a noticeable amount, hell, he still feels weird about even having his soda. This isn’t him ordering out and having Dave open the front door for it. It’s basically cooking in his mind.

Dave hasn’t had cream of mushroom before. He’s not even sure what it is beyond mushrooms and cream, and he’s not sure what a soup composed of soggy pizza toppings would be like. But he’s not in danger of crashing just yet. Hopefully not-Bro won’t call him on that, because he wants to try.

“Damn. Here I would’ve thought Bro yanked out all the working components years ago for all the snuff-tacular puppet torments.” Or at least used it to light a few smuppets on fire. There had been precisely one smuppet baked in the oven and that was a truly horrendous smell to air out. “Not that I’m complaining about the lack of scorch marks.”

•

Dirk looks back to Dave, surprised he followed him out. When Dave gives him the little nugget of info about His bro abusing the stove, he’s not completely shocked.

“I love puppets as much as the next man, but I have no idea what his niche puppet snuff is all about.” Most of the smuppets he’s found has been fucked up (or fucked) in some shape or form, and it’s a bit creepy.

“But this works fine.” He pats the stove with some affection. Same brand as home.

After a small silence, he adds “We’re eating it out of the can like heathens though. I can’t find spoons either.” Which is really sad? Even back home he had a set of three for each utensil. Sure, he lost two into the ocean, but that’s what metal scraps are for.

•

“Really? I mean that was kind of his jam, smuppets were basically single use murder toys, can’t tell you how many of the fuckers I’ve had to slice in half, more than the standard puppets that’s for sure. Goddamn bug eyes are worse than the cams.” This is spoken with the same amount of indifferent annoyance as someone might talk about the toilet seat being left up yet again.

“Spoons? Oh, huh, yeah I guess you wouldn’t be sourcing them from the same place. Dunno where you keep yours but you can have one of mine.” It would be the start of repayment on the growing list of things he owes new-Bro, even as nearly worthless as a disposable plastic spoon is. Back into his room, he snags a still wrapped clear spoon and his own white one from the school cafeteria. He’s cleanly and swaps out the utensils now and again, but he still figures young-Bro would want something that hasn’t already passed his lips a few times.

Dave sets the packaged one on the counter by the stove before quickly allowing the other a more decent amount of space between them. “Don’t worry, I’m not exactly anal about etiquette around here. You can use the salad fork on steak and I won’t even notice.”

•

Dirk raises a brow up slowly, nonverbally telling him how weird he finds that.

He mulls about it as Dave slips into his room for spoons (why.), then murmurs a thanks as he comes back.

He unwraps the spoon, sticking it in his can and tastes for temperature. Not quite there yet. He stirs.

“Mmh, how dare you. In this household it’s three forks a dinner. Have you not seen Pretty Woman? Travesty. This is a disgrace, you will never be an upper class woman at this rate.”

He adds, with some displeasure, ‘basic utensils’ to his mental shopping list.

“You should stir too,” he gestures to the other untouched can, “since you have a spoon now and all.”

A pause, then he shakes his head a little, voice an almost inaudible murmur “fucking waste of fabric…”

•

Did he do something wrong? Dirk looked at him like he was crazy, and that joke hit a little closer than it normally would for him. He’s pretty secure in his presentation but it has him wondering if new-Bro even knows about that particular facet of Dave. He hadn’t exactly hidden it and not-Bro hadn’t reacted to him forgoing binding as usual. Maybe he somehow just hadn’t noticed? Or he didn’t care.

Dave carefully dips his spoon into the soup to give it a little stir without touching the can itself since he has no idea if the surface would be safe to touch or not. Probably not, it’s supposed to be hot. He doesn’t stand any closer to it or his brother than he has to. “What would you use it for? It’s basically the trashiest felt on the market so honestly this is probably an elevation of the stuff.”

•

“Can use it for all kinds of stuff.” He sighs a little through his nose, a little insulted despite himself. Smuppet fabric is the _best_.

“Puppets. Pillows, blankets, clothes…” he ticks them off on his fingers, “easy to spot-clean, fragrance repellant, nice to the touch…”

He shakes his head again- dumb subject to talk about. “Point being he managed to ruin the fabric. Coulda done the snuff so you could cut off the unusable fabric but he didn’t. It’s wasteful.”

He dips a finger under the shades to rub at an eye. Man, he’s tired again.

“Guess since it’s so readily available he didn’t give a shit.”

Again, unsurprisingly, he finds himself disliking his alternate self more and more. Could he really have been like this, had he lived his life in this time?

The crushing answer is yes, and he hates it.

•

He grimaces. “Fuckin’- dude I guess there’s no accounting for taste but felt is like the worst possible clothing material I could imagine and same for pillowcases and blankets, I’m pretty sure finger puppets and kindergarten crafts are the overlapping two main uses of the stuff in this time period. Well, aside from needle felting, but that’s a whole different story.” Dave shrugs. “Call me an armchair psychologist but I think the waste was part of the appeal. Like those weirdos online that insist hey if you’re gonna vore my character it has to be forever and I will retire this character and add it to the list of the deceased and never use it again ignore the fact that I’ve dropped a few hundred bucks on art commissions for them actually no that’s what ramps up the appeal for them I bet, it’s about going ohoho, I’m wrecking something actually cool isn’t that sexy of me. Like the childhood urge to slap the fuck outta that block tower but loaded up with psychosexual issues out the ass.”

He vaguely realizes how weird it is that he’s been talking about his theories on his guardian’s fetishes for this long. Eugh. “But you’re probably right and I’m thinkin’ way too deep on this when he just bought the shit by the roll.”

•

Dirk hasn’t felt this called out for something he actually hasn’t done. It still stings his pride though, to see Dave shit on something he— even if it’s a different him- put thought and time into.

And he doesn’t seem like he DID put time into it, which feels uncharacteristic of him. It's _wrong_ \- even with his penchant for taking shit too far, he can’t look at this shitty snuff project as worthwhile. Is it cause he hates himself, or because he actually finds it bad?

“Scathing porno-political commentary, then.” It’s a neutral sentence at best and he knows it. He wants to tell Dave to shove off, but he doesn’t want him to, not really.

He stirs in his soup, and declares it done.

•

He realizes slowly as not-Bro sits down by the table where his computer is that he’s frustrated cause he can’t understand this Dirk. He should be able to. Does it mean that he went wrong somewhere, during all those years alone…? Maybe this Bro does things right, and he’s still just… struggling to understand? Dave seems able to grasp his Bro’s train of thought relatively easily.

He feels vaguely ill, but takes a spoonful of soup in his mouth. It might taste good, but he’s suddenly too stressed to consider it. Food’s food.

Shit. He honestly hadn’t mean it as calling anything out, or even really dunking on it despite his obvious distaste for the stuff. It’s just hard for him to frame it as something positive when that’s what he really thinks. New-Bro _probably_ isn’t the best person to ramble about Bro’s exotic tastes to though, especially when nature vs nurture is being put to the test and he has to wonder if this version of Bro has the same interests. It doesn’t sound exactly like it, but who knows once he gets comfortable with the idea of excess. Maybe he should start expecting machines instead of puppets with how eager not-Bro had been to mess around with the elevator. Upgraded roombas fated for destruction. Probably not though, if wasting felt of all things annoyed him, Dave has serious doubts that more valuable parts would be put at risk.

He almost says sorry, but that would call even more attention to his blunder. This is what he gets for loosening the cap on the cool kid act. He’s never been good about self moderation when it comes to words. All or nothing.

Dave waits until young-Bro takes his own food off the stove to try it himself. It’s actually shockingly good and tasting nothing like what he imagined. He has to take a second to try and work out if he should grab a few cans himself next time he goes out. Maybe it’ll be on sale soon? There was always cream of mushroom available, and he’s pretty sure that’s the same thing. He eats from the can on the counter, trying not to be too blatant about how he’s watching other-Bro eat.

•

It feels more than a little ridiculous that he’s getting upset that Dave isn’t sitting here and eating with him, Dirk tells himself. Dave can eat wherever he wants, and since it seems there’s some tension between them now for _some_ reason, and Dirk still is the murderer of snuff-Dirk, it’s not odd that he should chose anywhere but next to him.

He dips his spoon into the soup again, taking a soundless sip of it the creamy liquid in there. He’s pretty sure he can _taste_ that this box has been made recently and not 500 years ago. It’s some quality fucking soup.

Dirk leans his forehead against his propped up hand, staring into the can of soup as if there’s a mystery to be unravelled there. God, he’s tired. He knows it’s not the kind of tired you get from two days without sleep. He wants to tell Roxy how he fixed up the other Dirk’s code. He wants to tell Jake he fixed up the elevator. He wants to tell Jane he ate chocolate for the first time.

But even if he found them here, they wouldn’t fucking care, cause they wouldn’t know what the fuck he was talking about.

Even though that thought leaves his stomach in _knots_ , he pushes a couple more mouthfuls of soup in. It’s not about being hungry, he reminds himself for the nth time. It’s about getting the required amount of energy needed to function at optimal levels. He knows he’s not the greatest at keeping time- AR liked to remind him very consistently when it was time for food and drink- but he can at least try.

“Good?” Cause, well, he _does_ wonder what Dave thinks about it. Or maybe he’s just hungry, and has had it fifty times before. It’s probably a decent thing to ask anyways, Dirk hopes.

•

Dave wonders if he has anything to do with the way new-Bro looks ready to fall asleep in his can of soup. Would that be a self-centered assumption to make? Probably. The guy has a whole new world to deal with, which is a hell of a lot more than swapping out brothers.

“Oh.” Why is he asking? Is he trying to be polite after Dave’s display of social ineptitude embarrassing them both? Either way, it would be record levels of uncool to ignore the question after young-Bro bothered to ask him outright. “Yeah, yeah it’s pretty good. Never had this brand or this particular flavor of soup so I can’t tell you if it’s good compared to anything else in the category but it beats out pears.” Canned pears aren’t bad, but he’s had a nasty few stomach aches after trying to pretend they made a good meal.

This is too much food. He’s hardly halfway through the can, and they aren’t that big. Where would he put the leftovers? Dairy stuff spoils so quickly in this heat, he’s abruptly reminded of _why_ he hadn’t gotten this soup for himself before. Still, it’s not his to save anyway. “Where d’ you want the leftovers?”

•

“Uuh…”

Dirk glances over to Dave, but he can’t see how much there’s left in his can. He hadn’t actually thought that far to be honest…? He’s pretty sure he’ll be able to eat his own can of soup.

“I don’t… know…? Hold on…” he makes a valiant effort to rub two braincells together; the fridge is a no-go, unless they want an aftertaste of dead human. Nowhere cool to keep it… Can he make something else with the soup that’s left?

“Hal-…” With a jolt, he realizes that of course; he’s not here, and can't casually bring up soup-alternatives. It would have been obvious to him.

…

“Leave it by the fridge. I’ve read it takes… At least a day for soup to spoil. If you’re not hungry for soup later I’ll take it.” He taps the table distractedly. And why is it that Dave’s Bro doesn’t have an AR? Was he just that incompetent…? He’s sure he was too busy ripping perfectly good smuppets apart for _‘art’_ to have any interest in it.

Dirk says fuck it all and chugs the rest of the soup, bringing it to the sink and rinsing it; he can flatten the metal later. He just wants to sleep.

But when he’s collapsed satisfyingly into the deep cushions of the couch, he can _feel_ his brain isn’t ready to sleep yet. It’s gonna be one of _those_.

•

Hal-? Halbert? Halitosis? He has no fucking clue what new-Bro was going to say, but clearly it doesn’t matter that much because after that pause he’s dishing out orders. They make sense at least, and Dave can follow them easily. One last mouthful of soup then he’s setting it down and rinsing off his spoon once young-Bro has flopped down.

…has he ever seen Bro sleeping? He must have, the man had to have slept. It’s physiologically not possible for him not to have slept at all, he would have died long ago. It’s not weird to want to keep an eye on him though. Bro in any form is a slippery bastard and it’s perfectly reasonable to want to watch him in any state.

Creeping in the direction of his bedroom, Dave hazards a look over at his brother before pausing. Hm. It’s probably going to be patronizing as hell, but fuck it, the guy looks too exhausted to drag his ass up to the roof for now. “You sleep at all last night?”

•

“No.” It’s as deadpan as he feels, and he still sounds wide awake despite the intensity of his tiredness.

Dirk sighs, put upon, burrowing himself further into the couch pillows, wanting to be swallowed up by them entirely. Maybe then, he’ll be able to close his eyes and _not_ have one hundred clashing thoughts running through his head?

The answer is no.

He gives the cushion closest to his leg a little kick. It doesn’t kick back. That’s right, he’s the boss on this couch. His hand automatically comes up to knock against a pillow, and that damned little whistle joins in as well. He sits back up again.

Fucking. Hopeless.

Well, no better time to try to find his friends, right?

•

“Dude, y’know that-” He has no right to sound even a little incredulous considering how late he stayed up, but at least he slept. He’s about to add more right up until not-Bro lashes out, and like hell is he going to just offer himself up as a stand in punching bag when the cushions will apparently suffice for absorbing his (perfectly reasonable) irritation at Dave even asking like that. He doesn’t know what the whistle is supposed to mean and he’s not sticking around to find out. Instead, he flash steps right back to his room.

All in all, pretty good encounter. Once his stomach stops twisting itself into knots he should be set for the day and then some. Worth a little unpredictability from his bro, he just needs to figure out this ones patterns. He should probably lay low though.

Then he looks at the litany of messages that put the _mess_ into the word and thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get the snot kicked out of him. He knows what to do with that. So not much longer and he’s back out again like nothing happened at all, turning on the tap and leaning over to drink directly from it before filling up his beat up water bottle. Dave hazards a look towards the couch.

Dirk is just… staring at his phone. The screen's not on.

•

It’s truly hitting Dirk that they’re not gonna know _him_. They’re gonna know the Dirk that Dave knows; the one who… most decidedly is a huge dick. And yeah, he’s a dick as well, but he’s… _Him_. Maybe they’re not friends here at all. Maybe they’re not here at all?

There’s no way to know. But… Something in him tells him they _are_ here. His brows furrows together. But it’s not like they were inseparable back there either. He still ended up alone. He’s just good at ruining friendships like that.

Knock knock, whistle.

Sigh.

He puts the phone on the table, but he’s still looking at it. He reminds himself he’s wasting precious time, and he’s being dumb. That at worst, they’ll tell him to fuck off, and otherwise he’ll get to reconnect, but that in both scenarios, they’ll answer him.

He hopes to whatever deity above they’ll answer him.

Determined, he grabs the phone, logs onto pesterchum and opens up a common chat:

TT: Hey sup. It’s Dirk, hands up those who are still alive and well.  
TT: Raising my hand right now.

\- gutsyGumshoe is not a user on pesterchum! -  
\- golgothasTerror is not a user on pesterchum! -

Ouch.

He stares at the automatic messages, waiting for a third one, but… It … doesn’t come.

Dread, guilt, _hope_. Roxy has a pesterchum.

TT: I see you Rox.   
TT: Cat’s out of the bag.   
TT: Get it cause you love cats. I’m a man of humor.   
TT: Anyways hmu if you wanna chat I have a lot of free time.   
TT: I’m inserting a wink right here.

Dirk stares for so long his eyes water, and then maybe a little more. But it doesn’t seem like Roxy’s online. He wants to call. Demand that she answers.

He puts the phone on the table again, gently taking off his shades so he can put a pillow over his face.

He knows Dave can probably see this, but obviously Dirk is already so low on the food-chain that this might not even hurt his rank.

•

Well. Not-Bro isn’t looking at him. That’s good right? Dave doesn’t have a clue, nothing makes much sense anymore. Sure, things were unpredictable, but it was in a way he was used to at least. Now he’s flying blind.

He wants to ask if he’s alright; he doesn’t look alright- his shades are off. What the fuck. His shades are _off_ and just set down like that isn’t absolutely insane, and sure there’s a pillow between them but he still has to do a double take to make sure he’s seeing this correctly. Obviously, he should not ask if he’s alright. Just inquiring about his sleep had set him off before, so he can’t do even more.

Still. Being confronted by his friends isn’t any better, and he knows he won’t be able to fall asleep so soon unless something really wears him out. So, he does what he’s finding himself to be pretty good at and just. Watching not-Bro in silence. He should go. Young-Bro probably knows he’s still there since he hasn’t closed his door or locked it up yet. Not that the mechanism works at all, or could stop his brother if it did.

It’s probably incredibly dumb, but he can use a distraction, so he dares to sit down on the far end of the futon, just on the edge and ready to dodge a kick. Or, lessen the force of it. He doesn’t stand much chance against new-Bro’s kind of speed. It feels like he’s swinging his legs over a cliff.

•

There’s weight settling on the couch, and Dirk’s surprised enough that he rips the pillow away from his face to see-

Dave. Just. Casually sitting there. Automatically, he hitches his legs up a little, as if to give him more space. Dave. Seeing his dumb, tired face without shades, looking chill as can be. He smacks the pillow back into his face, willing this situation to disappear.

Why can he not have an _ounce_ of chill? He had a _plan_. And sure, there’s a 16 year old problem that got in the way of that, but he’s a master at figuring things out for himself. Why is he so put off? He shouldn’t have a problem with this world, the people, the food, the _brother_. It should all make him ecstatic and rearing to go, so what’s the deal?

He clamps onto the large jumble of emotions and squash them into the shape of ‘frustration’, but it doesn’t quite cut it. It’s like his chest is full of words and he wants to shout them, but he _can’t_.

Instead, a muffled “Sup.”

It’s something.

•

Dave is about to launch himself away from not-Bro; hell, maybe he even means to goad new-Bro into a strife, because that’s familiar territory even if the difficulty setting no doubt got ramped up past the roof. It’s just so bizarre to see Bro’s face with nothing on it, not even a mask of indifference to hide how wound up the dude is. Sure, by normal people standards he’s not completely overwhelmed with emotion, but compared the tiniest twitches Dave was used to interpreting, it was practically screaming. Was Dave upsetting him that much? He should leave him alone, he really should- then other-Bro is talking.

He drags in a deep breath that he tries to keep inaudible, then nods to himself. Maybe he _should_ just dive into it, fuck knows that he’s overdue, and Bro always collected with interest. Dave’s not too eager to find out the new rates if he keeps trying to avoid what’s coming. Plus, that’s also a total pansy move. He can take a few hits.

“Sup. Just thought maybe I’d hang with you if that’s cool I mean I can fuck right back off or take it to the roof if you’re in the mood-” He doesn’t know how to categorize whatever young-Bro is feeling and it makes him very, very nervous. As far as he’d known, Bro never had any issues like this. He was the coolest, most unflappable fucker in existence. No debate.

“Or we can kick it and see if you can’t catch some sweet Z’s from whatever snoozefest is playin’ on daytime television, might be even more coma inducing than the underside of the pillow there like I’m not entirely sure how someone could manage to improve upon the mind numbing effect of watching static by bringing it into focus but somehow the reruns of Dr. Phil and other trash TV just sorta lull you into thinking you’re going to get interested then it skullfucks you into oblivion with how brain numbingly bullshit it is don’t get me wrong it has its ups and downs it’s just not exactly the kind of trainwreck that’ll keep you up when your brain knows it can tune right out.”

•

Despite himself, Dirk feels himself relaxing under the onslaught of Dave’s words. They’re not the probing kind either, it’s more like he’s talking _at_ him. It reminds him of the clips his Dave left him. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen any of them in a while, at least a couple months. Maybe he misses them, cause it feels unfairly good to let the words roll over him.

It all comes with implications though, consequences. He’s not quite used to that, yet. Also, roof probably means strife, which means asskicking to Dave, which means no, he really doesn’t want to, even though his body aches to get some energy out.

“… mm…” Still muffled under the pillow. He’s ridiculous.

Watching daytime TV sounds like a waste of time, but the thought of it sending him to a coma is a little more appealing. Also, it’s the most pacifistic alternative Dave brought up.

He removes the pillow, replaces his glasses. “Sure, trash-TV sounds kinda good, actually.” He half-sits up, leaning his head on the armrest. His eyelids feels heavy. “Lay it on me. 'm ready for a good mindfuck.”

•

“Yeah, bet you didn’t get a whole lotta that without cable. How’d-” Dave stops himself. Now is _not_ the time for playing twenty questions, he knows he can be exhausting enough without inflicting himself upon someone already short a night’s rest. Still. It’s hard not to consider being told to keep it up as anything but a victory.

Nodding as though not-Bro could still see him, he gets up and grabs the remote before returning to his spot to sit down a bit more securely. There’s probably not going to be any surprise attacks if little-Bro is intent on watching TV with him instead of strifing it out. Dave isn’t actually sure what’s on at this time, usually he’s absorbed in something else by now.

He’s flipping through channels without bothering with the guide. Commercial, commercial, oh sweet, infomercial about a powerwasher. That gets a few seconds before he’s back to flipping around for some sufficiently inane reality shows. “Any preferences? How It’s Made or whatever equivalent is probably running somewhere, else it’s ghost hunting and people claiming pyramids were actually built by Jesus sending his psychic powers ahead of time.”

•

Dirk doesn’t _like_ that Dave is stopping himself from asking. He’s obviously curious… He watches with some interest at the faces blurring over the screen before it’s the next channel. It feels very much like he’s starring in a movie or something.

“Uhh, no preference… Whatever’s the most dumb, I’m here for.” It’s a little interesting too, seeing a television network functioning in real time.

…

“You can… ask. Whatever it was. 'm an open book, metaphorically.” Kind of, anyway.

•

“Alright, Jeezy-boy’s telekinesis time it is then.” History channel? Dave doesn’t have these things memorized, but when he hits something that looks like a poorly done documentary with a floating diagram of hieroglyphs being compared to helicopters, he knows he’s hit the right thing.

It’s more than a little difficult to believe that he’s just. _Allowed_ to ask away. Where does he even start? Dave absentmindedly drags his thumbnail over the squishy buttons of the remote, not quite clicking any of them. “How’d you learn to talk? Did the robo parents take that on and make sure you didn’t miss those critical language acquiring periods and all that?”

•

“Mmh…” he nods slowly- it’s not the first time he’s been asked that of course- he’s had videochats with both Jane and Jake, and they’ve commented about his weird dialect.

“Films helped.” How to broach the subject of Bro nicely…

“Uh. Bro also had like. Educational shit gathered up that Sawtooth put on- uh, the robot. One of’em. So. Well, it wasn’t perfect obviously-“ he points to his mouth, well aware of his impediment, “but, y’know. The internet’s your friend too.”

He doesn’t mention Bro did a lot if the educational stuff, sparsed wirh compliments and encouragement. That sometimes, he looked so hopeless, and Dirk didn’t know why until much later.

“So yeah, pretty straight forward. I had a lot of freetime to practice.”

•

“Sawtooth is a pretty badass name.” That’s a weak answer to that and Dave knows it. It’s followed up with an inquisitive look at the ‘obviously’, his head tilting slightly as he wonders what other-Bro meant. Maybe that he’s not so collected? Or that accent that sounded maybe vaguely European to him, but Dave had figured it was just a result of the time difference. Really, after five hundred years it wouldn’t be surprising if they barely spoke the same language. But English didn’t seem to have had the time to drift in between judging by the picture he’s slowly filling in over their conversations.

Dave nods though. “Yeah, practice helped me a whole hell of a lot, teachers could barely understand me when I first got set in school and nobody could decide what t’ do with me yammering on with the wackiest pronunciations known to man because I didn’t know how to read the phonetical alphabet in the dictionary yet, but they also really wanted me to pipe the fuck down because they couldn’t handle all the heat I was bringing to the table. Shit would’ve gone so much faster if I’d been able to get into audiobooks or whatever but y’know I managed just fine, though that’s not half the struggle that you probably had workin’ out everything without any feedback from actual people.”

•

“…” it just isn’t fair, he doesn’t say. Dave went through such a thing when he really didn’t have to, when Dave should have had all the odds of a happy childhood. Was this also cause of his Bro? How could Dirk be so useless as a parental figure, when Dave was so fucking good at it, when Dirk was left _aching_ for Dave’s company?

“Not much talkin’ at home, then.” Not even a question, but a statement to let Dave know he’s puzzling it together, piece by horrid piece.

He shrugs at the addendum. “I-…” fuck. Something tells him he shouldn’t talk about his friends, that it’ll open a wound that’s not properly scabbed over. But he cant keep talking to Dave elsewise.

“I… connected. With a couple people through pesterchum. One when I was six, two when I was eleven. Time shenanigans. They- gave me some feedback.”

He stares at the TV blankly, not taking in what’s going on on it. The adrenaline he’d experienced when he managed to connect with Roxy is something he’s never experienced again. He looks to the phone.

No notifications.

•

“Nah.” Dave really doesn’t sound bothered by it, faintly amused if anything. “Bro wasn’t much for verbal wordplay. Short and sweet. Trust me, I did more than enough talking for the both of us. Not that I want you to shut up or anything, he was just too cool for any of that. Actions speak louder than words 'n whatnot. Pretty sure the teachers started wishing I’d stayed incomprehensible not too long after I got the hang of how to say fuck properly.” Not his fault that expletives had a good mouth feel and grabbed peoples attention. TV used it plenty, especially the comedies when he came across them.

Oh. That explains why tiny-Bro is mostly sensible at least. “Shit, pesterchum really transcends time then huh. Wait- oh.” Shit. They’re probably from before the apocalypse then, and not-Bro had already said he was the only one left. God, he can’t help but feel for him a little. “Uh.” Dave needs to change the subject immediately.

“Same here I guess though we kept it textual so while my lexicon was shooting off faster than a virgin at prom I wasn’t really gettin’ pointers on tonguing the words properly. I mean not exactly the same since we all sorta fell in together at the same time and nerdy ass interests linking us up but y’know, tight knit group.” It’s still too close to the previous subject. “So. What’s it like seeing a busy street for the first time?”

•

Dirk’s lips twitch up; smooth. While he’s sure it wasn’t as lighthearted a story as Dave was making it, he’s a good enough of a storyteller that he can make it sound humorous. He can imagine Dave babbling on, nobody understanding him.

It’s fun to imagine Dave talking to his group of friends, like Dirk did with his group. Dumb conversations, dumber feelings, but pure and real. He wonders if Dave is friends with Rose Lalonde, how his story coincides with his own. He wonders if they’re four.

Taken aback, he gives a little huff of a laugh. The real answer is terrifying.

“Strange. Like walkin’ into a movie. Like there’s a lot of NPC’s walkin’ about, and I’m player one who’s still learnin’ the basics of the game. Where the fuck is the manual dude, it’s supposed to be somewhere easy to get to, this is a bullshit tutorial stage. Also, the music score fucking sucks.” He relaxes a little more into the couch; something about _finally_ getting to vent that out unspools some of the tension in him. “So fuckin’ loud. Google maps didn’t prepare me for shit.”

What the fuck is happening on the screen? There are lazers involved. This is not the bible he didn’t grow up with.

•

Dave isn’t playing the slightest amount of attention to the show. He feels honest to god _pride_ at how he managed to make his Bro smile when he meant to, and _laugh_ \- or at least, a version of him. Young-Bro seems easier to please at least, probably because he’s still so new to everything, but he’ll take it all the same.

“Yeah you gotta bring your own beats if you want to jam out to more than some douchebag blasting the base so hard as he rolls by that his car becomes basically a noisy vibrator on wheels. Guess it would be pretty fuckin’ weird to have people up in my grill all of sudden, like if I got tossed in a foreign country. No amount of studyin’ beats out experience so I guess I’m saying your brain will learnt to filter out most of it once you’re all adjusted, like the difference between me and some tourist staring up instead of looking where they’re going. Don’t get me wrong there’s some good stuff about a fresh perspective but it sure would make things harder on the day by day t’ not be able to zone out and let your legs take you wherever. Autopilot is a hell of a thing.”

•

“Mm… Autopilot is fucking bliss.” When things just goes by itself, no thought needed. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s nice. And honestly, bringing music out sounds like a good idea; though he wouldn’t, since it would leave him vulnerable. What if something came at him and he was too busy rappin’ it out with DJ Strider?

He opens his eyes, surprised that they were closed. “Foreign country huh… I guess. Sounds like a bad romcom plot. Country bumpkin enters the big city. Will he be able to acclimate to the big bad industrialized society, or is the farm where he was always meant to be?” He soothes a hand against the fabric of the couch. Feels nice. “But yeah. I’m betting on that it’s just an adjustment period, like I said…” He bites back a yawn, looking at the blurry screen in front of them.

He tries to find something to say that’ll keep Dave talking. It feels important. “You’re not bothered with all the sound…?” He realizes his eyes are shut again.

•

“Psh, we came from that same hunter gatherer cloth, if you’re a farmer you’re already halfway to city life. You’ll get it.” Probably. Bro didn’t seem to go out much, but that’s because he had everything he needed all sent to him. No need to waste time doing stuff he didn’t want to. The idea that his own Bro might have been so easily overwhelmed is absurd.

“Nah. I mean. Sometimes? Like I have limits like anybody else if I’m tired as fuck I’m not gonna be too pleased about some jackoff blasting the horn at me for daring to use the crosswalk and if I took my shades off I’m pretty sure the neon would straight up vaporize me in conjunction with the noise, dunno how the weirdos on the street do it bare face, but I’m doing fine.” It feels surreal to just outright admit his own deficiencies. “Up here it’s just nice white noise aside from the odd helicopter now and then.” It’s worth it to be able to flat out bore the man to sleep though.

•

“Mhmm…” He nods a little, like hell yeah he’s listening to this, totally. Listening like his life depends on it, totally not letting it wash over him like a blanket, Dave’s words pushing out the ones stuck in his brain.

He doesn’t really know he’s fallen asleep, but his body seems to have gotten the memo well enough. As Dave talks, his breathing evens out into something deeper, his arms, originally gently crossed, tucked up under his armpits. His shades a little crooked, mouth just a tiny bit open. Like this, he looks younger, brows only lightly pushing towards each other, his mouth slack, his head slowly tilting to one side as his neck looses tension. He makes a little noise, like he’s trying to keep up the farce that he’s listening.

His knees gently clunks against the backseat of the couch, going lax as well.

•

Dave goes absolutely beet red, but he doesn’t stop talking even as his thought process nearly grinds to a halt. Bro is _out_ , and he knows it’s all kinds of wrong to describe any edition of him as cute; handsome, chiseled, imposing were all fine, but cute should be completely out of the question, even when he’s curled up and passing out on the couch right next to Dave like it’s nothing.

He wants to reach out and close Dirk’s mouth for him so he doesn’t wake up thirsty ~~and touch him~~. Things are already crazy enough though, and he doesn’t want to wake him up and ruin the moment. “Really it’s more like gray or brown noise with the smog gunking it up, though I’m sure the static connoisseurs online would tear into my ass for daring to categorize things so willy nilly instead of measuring out the gigahertz or whatever it is that differentiates the various colors. I don’t even think they bother with the visible color spectrum why wouldn’t I have heard about hot pink? Sure magenta doesn’t technically exist but if our brains can autofill that right in why can’t we have the audio equivalent? Falling Shephard’s tone is intense dude, ten out of ten recommend that you try listening to it the first time you get high and feel convinced that you’re falling through the floor but gravity has reversed like you’re on the wrong side of a fun house mirror. You should probably not go for the crazy strong stuff though like I get it we all want to look cool but maybe start with the tiniest corner of that chocolate and let that sink in before you take a full ass bite and phase into the next dimension of consciousness for five hours and have to hide in the bathroom because you’re convinced people will be able to smell it on you even though edibles don’t even have a smell, like it’s gonna be like onions and come out through your pores. Disgusting.”

•

The more Dirk listens, the deeper he enters REM. When his head dips too far, he nods it up, turns his face towards the couch and snuggles up to it, his shades riding up into his hair, blissfully unaware at how vulnerable he’s being.

His legs slowly slackens out, touching Dave’s outer thigh almost tentatively.

“Muh…” Properly relaxed, he’s sinking into the couch even deeper, lax.

•

With that, Dave makes a fruitless pleading gesture towards the ceiling, like any deity would be able to change this. He’s absolutely sure that his brother, while possibly still hearing him, is so far gone that he’s not going to understand a word of it, and if by some crazy chance he does, it’s not going to stick in his memory. “…Jesus Christ this is unfair how are you fucking _pretty_ this should be illegal you’re supposed to, I dunno, sleep standing up with your eyes open like a horse, or else hittin’ the other end of the spectrum and conking out hideously with your drool gettin’ everywhere in an ugly as fuck but super manly way just oozing machismo over here but instead you’re taking a hard left swervin’ off the track and mudding straight into _Adonis_ territory what the fuck this is so unfair hasn’t life rawdogged me hard enough??” He can’t believe he’s doing this, but. Dirk looks so relaxed… Dave allows himself to slowly, _slowly_ lower his hand onto the man’s shin. He’s not even touching skin, he shouldn’t be this overwhelmed. He wheezes slightly.

•

While Dirk really doesn’t register what it is Dave is saying at all, the warmth on his shin feels nice. There’s no reaction but a little sigh through his nose. Slowly, as Dave keeps his hand on his shin, his leg relaxes further, the pressure of his foot against Dave’s thigh a little firmer.

Had he been awake, he’d probably be mortified; how needy is it, to enjoy a hand on his shin…? But that, combined with Dave’s continuous ramble just sinks him deeper into sleep, his normal vigilance even during naps slowly drifting away into something deeper.

•

“Ffffffuck I’m so screwed this was bad enough with Bro-Bro I might actually be dumb enough to make things awkward with you since you don’t know better than to keep me from rambling at you and showin’ all my cards like it’s nothing at all. You’re just meltin’ here and you don’t even have a clue you blissful motherfucker I wish things were the other way around and I was the sap drifting off while my creep of a brother takes advantage to feel up my twiggy legs, not that you’re twiggy just y’know you saw how he looked anybody but body builders look like a stick figure next’a him.” Dave’s voice is a little higher, but he keeps it even at least. No need to risk waking him now as he’s really settling down. Dave’s hand slides down gently to Dirk’s foot. Just touching.

•

Dirk’s foot twitches at the touch, completely unused to the sensation; but he’s already in so deep that he only breathes out in a slow sigh.

It’s like he’s unraveling at even this simple touch, the little wrinkle in his brow slowly unfurling to something sweeter.

His feet are sock-clad, though they’re pretty damned tired- resown and patched several times, but quite soft. It is, of course, smuppet felt.

•

Dave openly makes a face of disgust. Yeah, he would definitely rather deal with the ensuing weirdness of having undressed his Bro in any capacity than to have that shit touching him even through his pants. Fuck that. Now he’s imagining how horrifically uncomfortable that much feel in a shoe. “Ugh. Dude. I admire your ability to salvage about anything but this is one of the worst things I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m going to steal your credit card and buy you some new socks that aren’t imbued with the souls of the damned at a base level.” Fuck it. He’s going for it.

It still takes him a solid minute to work up the nerve to slide his forefinger under the fabric (blushing all the while of course, because this is stupid and he’s going to look creepy and stupid if he wakes him up like this) and starts to ever so slowly work it off of him while simultaneously trying to touch both him and the sock as little as possible while still getting it done.

•

Under smuppet-felt, the skin is soft and unblemished; maybe the least scarred area on his body.

The only scar seems to be on one foot, between his big toe and index toe, as if it’s been cleaved there.

A shiver goes through him and skin brushes against skin, and he curls up a little before relaxing again. For a moment it seems like he’ll slit an eye open, but he doesn’t.

•

Dave stops short before letting out a slow breath and shaking his head at himself. This is. Just so, incredibly stupid. Damn good at distracting him though, especially with the way his heart is racing. He wonders if not-Bro dropped a sword point-first on his foot when he was teaching himself to use it.

He repeats the action with the other foot and tosses both socks on the floor and out of sight. Good riddance. Then he’s settling in himself and gently feeling at Dirk’s pulse through his ankle, tracing the pad of his thumb along veins. Why does he feel so tired himself now?

•

Dirk is dreaming. When he breathes out, he mutters something under his breath; it barely sounds like english since he’s not actively trying to speak, his voice barely in it.

“Rox…” a deep sigh and a barely there moan of exasperation (despair?) .

His brows wrinkles up again, his shoulders climbing up towards his ears. Another little sigh, his eyes moving behind his eyelids. It’s obviously not a very pleasant dream, his breath picking up just barely.

•

Now he feels even more guilty about this whole thing, but he _can’t_ just leave him like this. Dirk just looks so miserable, and he doesn’t have a clue who or what this “Rox” is, assuming the word had any meaning at all and wasn’t just another fragmented word that Dave couldn’t quite catch, but he knows it’s wrong for him to listen in like this.

He has to steady himself, then slides his hand back up and down his older brother’s calf in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “Hey man it’s alright I guess you must’ve been knocked right out by my sweet dulcet tones here so I can’t blame you for needing a continued fix to support this habit, though usually I gotta ease people into it instead of going full speed ahead here but shit if you didn’t seem like you needed the unfiltered blast of Dave boringness to slam dunk you into unconsciousness rather than be forced to hear my every waking thought that wanders through my skull because I have a _lot_ and I know I jump before people even have a chance to respond to the first thing but in my defense it’s not like you’d ever really talk back and I was talking more to myself anyway, born to monologue, if you can really still call it that when it’s more of a conversation between me myself and I. I wish you’d popped in and just slotted yourself between Bro and me as the middle brother. It would’ve been crazy but I bet you and him would get on great sure you’d need to polish up your people skills for him not to give you that look, y’know, the one where you’re making a fool of yourself, but hell I bet we could’ve made it work somehow. It’s not that I’m even that sad it’s just-”

“Really messed up and I shouldn’t even try to comfort you when you’re the one that offed my only family, but at the same time that’s you and that has some terrifying implications, plus the sheer hellscape you’ve been through. I mean fuck. PTSD out the ass I bet I shouldn’t get nervous about you bring so jumpy you’d be as justified in whooping my ass as a veteran kicking the shit out of someone ignoring the fireworks ban in a drought.”

•

It seems his monkey-brain is soothed at the repetitive motion on his leg, at least somewhat. His breath whooshes out kind of shaky, then slowly evens out again. “nuhh… 'll get… Hal, yuh gotta…” His hand pushes weakly against the couch, but he only grunts and goes completely lax again a moment later, brows furrowed but now back to calm.

_He’s on the dock outside his apartment, staring out at the vast sea, in the direction of Roxy. Ten thousand three hundred and four miles away lies Roxy, unable to move, choking on her own vomit. His last friend- his last fucking friend, and he can’t even talk her through the road to oblivion. He has to get to her; has to gather all his shit, amp up his board, bring Squarewave and Sawtooth so they can fly him for as long as they can-… He knows even then it’s not enough, that they’ll drop into cold water at about four thousand miles._

_Dirk dreams that he’s flying, no machines or anything, that he’s blasting over the water into the horizon like a seagull, unhindered and untiring. It takes no time at all to get to Roxy’s house. When he comes, he sees that it looks just like pre-apocalyptic Texas, people milling about. He flies right to Roxy’s home, barges in to save her. Her, Jake and Jane are playing cards, one of Jane’s cakes sitting between them, whipped cream covering the piece on their plates. They look shocked and guilty._

_“We thought you knew!” Jane protests weakly, and Roxy giggles in that guilty way of hers. Jake scoffs and looks away, guilt quickly morphing into annoyance. “We just- figured you’d come over if you wanted to be with us.”_

Dirk blinks his eyes open with a sharp little breath in. He looks directly into musty, old couch, and he doesn’t want to move. There’s a movement on his leg, a repetitive motion up and down, and for a moment he fears a seagull has come in and is humping his leg-… But then the past two days catches up to him, and he realizes _Dave_ is going that, is stroking at his leg as if he’s a cat or something.

… Dave was droning on about something, but it seems he heard Dirk re-entering the world of the living. Dirk should let him know he’s up. Dave probably… Is trying out something, is checking if he’s real or something. Why are his socks off anyway? He should tell Dave that he's awake.

But he doesn’t. Dirk only shuts his eyes again, greedily focusing on the sensation on his leg, the way Dave’s callouses drags against smooth skin. It feels so _warm_ , in a way a shower never did.

•

Hal again, it’s definitely a full word. A name, even. One of the three people Dirk had lost? Fuck. Dave doesn’t know what he would do if John, Jade, and Rose were just _gone_. He’d probably lose his shit and try to claw his way back to them no matter the cost.

Do those people even exist in this universe? Have they been born at all yet? Time nonsense sounds like a bitch and a half.

It takes Dave a few seconds to make sure his brother hasn’t fully woken up with that little jolt, but it lends credence to his rambling theory about him being traumatized as fuck. Jerking awake from nightmares was trauma 101 as far as media is concerned. Sure, he knows a little more than that, but he’s not Rose and he doesn’t need to typically pay attention to that kind of information.

Once the man fails to rise, Dave continues on as if nothing happened. “Yeah I feel that. Mean not literally but shit’s gigafucked here and it seems like you got the real chode end of the stick, practically better off serving as a tiny coaster at this point.” One finger idly traces around the curve of not-Bro’s anklebone. They’re good bones, he thinks. Not that he has much reference. “You don’t seem like the type to use coasters though like you don’t even chill the drink so there’s not much condensation to worry about warpin’ anything plus unless it’s plywood I really doubt you’d fuck with wood furniture. Imagining you sittin’ at a fancy oak desk is bizarre as hell. Probably any wood furniture you had rotted away before your time though. Doubt there was even any wood at all beyond fossils and petrified shit. Not enough time for underwater sea trees to catch on I think I mean even mangroves need some land and soil n whatnot. Wonder how Everest looked surrounded by ocean. All those marker bodies probably thawed out though with the water that high. Probably the least bad effect there since it’s not like they were going to be taken care of anyway.”

It’s so strange to be able to touch him like this.

•

There is a small pause in Dave’s talking, but miraculously enough it seems like Dave hasn’t realized he’s awake. Dirk counts it as a blessing, as long as Dave keeps touching him.

The simple touch sends goosebumps up his leg all the way to his scalp, at it feels like his hairs stand on end, but in a _good_ way. He’s not sure what Dave’s talking about (something about coasters?) but his soft voice lowers his walls pathetically easy.

He wishes it would send him to oblivion again, but suddenly he’s so focused on the touch that it’s all he can think about. He wants to feel it on his shoulder, on his back. He wants to touch Dave too, like the poke he did on him. He wants to hang an arm around him like he’s seen in his shows, lean on him and see how sturdy he is for that scrawny build.

A bit too curious, he ducks his head a little, enough that he can look down to his own feet, see where their skin touches. Did Dave actually take off his socks…? Very strange, definitely _very_ weird, but he’s a little happy too cause suddenly his ankles are so fucking sensitive…? He never _thinks_ about his feet, he’s not some kinda kinkster that gets off on having his feet touched. It’s just.

Nice.

He looks up to Dave face, barely able to see him cause he’s trying to still seem asleep, eyes slitted open just a little.

He looks a little more relaxed than he has been, Dirk thinks. He’s clearly comfortable enough to touch him in any capacity.

•

“Man. I would ask about all the relics of humanity preserved by the salt water but thinking on it short of whatever got encased in mud during the inevitable landslides probably got completely destroyed huh like _fuck_ the more I actually think on this shit the more wildly messed up it is. You’re actually shockingly un-feral for only having robo parents, and while that does sound pretty dope like you not only got two you had ones that never needed to put you in the crib for an hour because their feeble human bodies were desperate for sleep instead of baby duty, that’s still gotta leave you super unacclimated to everything like I’ve seen that study about the cloth mother thing for monkey babies and unless you had some serious look-alive real feel silicone I don’t get the feeling you’re going to be much more for the touchy feely than Bro was. It’s kind of hilarious how much more open to the idea of just gettin’ in my space you are outside of strifes. I don’t _think_ you’re doin’ it to fuck with me either, which is weird as all hell. Maybe it’s just because you’re like an unsocialized labrador like oh yeah what’s up man then it fucking tackles you into oblivion and shoves its tongue down your throat like it wasn’t just gettin’ cozy with canine asshole two minutes ago.”

Dave very briefly considers trying a massage, because god knows his own feet need it now and then from wearing shitty shoes all day, but that would put him even more squarely in the freak zone as well as increasing the likelihood of waking the other. He’s petting at those soft little hairs on Dirk’s leg now. This is weird and he should stop before it bites him in the ass.

He forces his hand to still, though he can’t bring himself to fully pull away. Instead, it’s loosely wrapped around his brother’s ankle as he closes his eyes and lets his head gently fall back against the cushions behind him. “Dogs suck though, so maybe that’s not a good analogy.” Maybe young-Bro wouldn’t wake up for a while and the guilt about being such a massive creep about his own sibling/guardian just fucking falling asleep would bring him to his senses before any consequences could catch up to him. “Can probably leave your socks there, pretend you shucked ‘em off when you got hot because why the hell would you accuse me of doin’ it like I’m the kind of person to jerk off over 'em. Like I got no problem with that but if anybody tried to suck my toes I’d probably give them a reflexive tonsillectomy via toenails and that just does not sound like a sterile tool to be using or that much of a great time. Getting hit in the throat hurts like hell and fucks you up for a good couple minutes but I have to imagine a kick from the inside would be so, so much worse Bro. Plus the aforementioned nails.”

•

It’s literally like watching a clip his bro made for him, only that it’s a young _lil_ bro, a bit more awkward but not an ounce less of a filter. It’s awe-inspiring, the stuff that comes out of that mouth. Now that he’s focusing on Dave’s lips, it’s easier to actually register what Dave is actually talking about; and man, does it swing from one spectre to the other.

Dirk is not so sure about the feral part. Maybe it’s cause he saw all those tapes with Dave, or maybe Squarewave and Sawtooth did a decent job as parents. Or maybe it was something completely different, like not being human or hurtling to earth on a meteor. He’s not sure at all.

He swallows carefully as Dave deems it fine to hook his and on his ankle. It… yeah, it feels… Embarrassingly good. It feels like Dave is saying ‘I don’t mind being this close, actually it’s nice and you’re not a horrible person. I want to be close to you.’, even though he’s not really saying that at all. Dirk will pretend at least half of that is actually true though.

Ah. So he did removes his socks. And he feels weird about it. Ok, well-

He can’t suppress the little snort that sneaks out of him as he imagines Dave with a foot in his mouth, which was the opposite of what he said _anyways_ -

Fuck- automatically he’s brought up a hand to his mouth to stop the little hyena laugh that wants out.

Cover? Blown.

Maybe if he’s completely silent, he’ll just keep on going, and not let go of his ankle.

•

“I mean maybe if someone wanted t’ treat me to a pedicure or vice versa I could s-” Dave jerks his hand away and flashsteps off the futon like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and that cookie jar had grown very sharp teeth when he wasn’t looking. The initial noise he could have dismissed as the start of a snore, which wouldn’t have been too unlikely in the weird position not-Bro had been twisted up into, could absolutely not be overlooked when the guy moves like it’s nothing at all.

He’s going to be in _such_ deep shit. His skin face can’t decide whether it needs to be completely red or completely devoid of blood because this is an unprecedented level of fuck up even for Dave. Yeah, this is going to be the thing that gets new-Bro good and pissed off at him, and with how level-headed the original had been and _still_ dragged his ass across the pavement, he knows there’s a good chance of this more emotional version being a good deal less restrained in his lessons.

Really, he should know exactly where fight or flight should kick in, but it’s been a long, long time since he’s dealt with the feeling of being frozen in place. There’s protocol for when his Bro needed to remind him of his place, he knows what’s more or less allowed and what he can expect when he falls short, but this is entirely fresh territory. Not even his surroundings look the same now.

•

Fuck. He should have figured sudden movements would freak Dave out. To make up for it, he keeps laying down a little (now wallowing at the loss of touch cause he’s too cool for that), before hoisting himself up and sitting normally on the couch again. He doesn’t want to… Freak him out more, but he’s also really bad at comforting, or finding the right words.

He doesn’t know what to do, to translate.

“… Not sure why 'm not more feral’n I am.” After hearing Dave talk, he can hear how inadequate is own speech is; too mumbly, the weight of his words weirdly proportioned, his vowels dragging unnaturally. After some gentle untangling, he manages to free his shades from his hair; it leaves his bangs looking kinda dumb.

How to break the news that he knows Dave kind of weirdly took off his socks, and then made a monologue that’s weirdly sexual?

“… oh look.” He slips on his socks again, then leans back on the couch. “Huh. Musta shucked them off in my sleep cause I was too hot. Pre-apocalyptic Texas sure is warm this time’a year.”

•

Well, at least now his face knows what direction it’s going for, which is firmly into _much warmer_ , and it feels like his neck is following along. God. This is mortifying. He would literally rather have been caught masturbating than have to hear not-Bro fucking. Stare the elephant in the room straight in the eye and then pointedly look away. Dave can’t even lie to himself and pretend that other-Bro didn’t hear him, seeing how he outright fucking answered the mumbling that had preceded an open admission of his own inappropriate actions.

Is this what Dirk sounds like when he’s not controlling his voice as firmly as his sword? His mind keeps catching on the wrong words that are emphasized, and it distracts from what’s actually being said with them. That’s probably a good thing, because it forces Dave to pick them apart a little instead of reacting instinctively and it seems like his instincts are good at screwing him over now. It’s uncomfortable to realize. “I’m. Sorry?” He sounds squeaky.

Yeah, his instincts are all out of wack. He should’ve taken the graceful out that not-Bro so mercifully offered him. “I mean, shit, yeah it is I dunno what the post watery hellscape weather is like but it gets pretty nasty with all the steel and concrete bouncing around the heat and light and cookin’ us like an oven. But we get some nice wind all the way up here so we don’t even feel the worst of it.” Dave steps back a little, one hand squeezing the hem of his shirt to try and hide the way it shook.

•

Dirk look on with sympathy; and some pleasure as well. He’s never seen any Dave with _that_ expression before. He sympathy-blushes a little, and he brings his hands together to wring at each other a little- then changes to course to them so they’re smoothing over the seat of the couch instead.

“Mhmm.” … Man, Dave looks like he’s ready to full on strife. His legs are apart for balance, he’s doing that little- that thing they do when they have to be ready to move to the side or back, almost a bounce. It sets his teeth on edge.

Suddenly struck by inspiration, where the inspiration is a documentary about dogs he saw several years ago, he leans his side against the side of the couch, tucking his feet up under himself, leaving half the couch empty and free to sit.

“Guess it can’t be helped.” It’s the closest he gets to ‘it’s fine don’t worry’ without actually bringing it up again. “You not gonna watch… uh…” He squints at the screen. Somehow, it’s even more ridiculous then last time he glanced at it. “Jesus T-rex?” He has a feeling it won’t end up with him sleeping again, but … it _will_ lead to them both chilling in close vicinity again.

•

…this can’t be right. He’s been thinking things along that line again, and again, and _again_ , but that doesn’t make it any less of a shock to realize that not-Bro is also getting flushed. It’s pretty, and the thought only compounds the self depreciation going on inside his head.

If he’d had any idea of what inspired Dirk, that would have been magnified tenfold.

Blissfully unaware, Dave stands there in a haze of confusion at the sudden change to new-Bro’s body language. The way his center of balance is so shamelessly tilted and he’s not even tensed to compensate for it and use it as a means of more effectively flinging himself around. How he’s all but- oh. He is inviting Dave to sit down. Maybe? It feels all wrong; this isn’t how anything is supposed to go, and sure, the script is out the window, but he’d thought he at least knew the general direction of where this was headed. It’s all topsy-turvy.

Fitting for the weirdo version of Bro that actually seems to want him close by for whatever reason. Can’t he keep a close eye on him from more than a foot away? Dirk’s foot, specifically.

Dave gradually edges forward, waiting for the attack that has to be waiting for him at such a blatant trap, only to reach the couch and realize that oh, right, that means he’s supposed to sit down now. Managing that stiffly enough, Dave gives a curt nod. “I can give it a try, can’t say I’ve seen it a hundred times before or even twice, and I’m only leaving out the possibility of once because I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen a clip that looks kinda like this but there’s no telling if I actually had the thing running in the background, watched it for reals, or just watched a video essay on it. Or it popped up on a compilation of trash cinema. Highest kudos to it if it managed to hit all of the above.”

He’s going to owe this Bro so much for letting Dave slip up so frequently. Hopefully it won’t be anything too unbearable.

•

As if Dave agreeing to sit with him is a reward for sticking his neck out, Dirk’s shoulders lowers a little, and he breathes a little breath out. Ok, nice. He like, totally nailed that. Point Dirk.

He’s beginning to think that this Dave, as opposed to his Dave who rants because he can’t really turn his inner monologue out and it needs out, uses his rants as a disarming tool, or maybe even to hide up some insecurity. It’s kind of rocking his boat a little, if he’s being honest, which he’s not.

“Mm… I’m pretty sure about it being on some kind of compilation. We’ll just have to see how bad it truly is before we can crown it as a trash classic.” Since relaxing his muscles seemed to calm Dave down, he forces the ones in his arms to stop tensing, and he slings them (slowly) up to the armrest of the couch so he can cushion his head on them. He keeps his feet away from Dave, just in case Dave is suddenly super sensitive to them now, for some reason.

“The T-rex has a really difficult accent.” He points out after they’ve watched for a little while, “and honestly, Jesus should know better than to trust Susan with anything. We can see that, the T-rex can see that… Everyone can see that.”

•

“You watch many compilations?” This is bizarre and while it doesn’t hit the panic button like seeing new-Bro all tensed up and looking at him does, it’s still disquieting for Bro to _lounge_. Dave’s eyes, of course, are magnetically drawn to that little hint of skin at Dirk’s midline when he shifts into position. This definitely doesn’t have anything to do with how Dave is slow to respond beyond that. Luckily, his brother doesn’t seem to mind much. Probably glad for the silence.

“Hey now you can’t trash Jesus for being trusting of the good in humanity I mean that’s supposed to be the whole bag here and according to evolution not existing dinos were around at the same time, ferrying people around on their massive backs, so that’s like not trusting a horse- actually nevermind you’re onto something horses are suspect at best and if they started talking they’d also have an accent that was hell on the ears and hearts alike, like they wouldn’t even necessarily be stuck with that they’d do it just to screw with us, the verbal equivalent of taking a big swig from the water trough then cantering on over to spit it all in our shoes because horses have no gods nor morals. They’re free wheeling it and that’s admirable but not something I’d want to see if I could harness. Double for T-rexes because they’re basically if horses were less breakable.”

•

“Dude, the internet is basically 90% compilations. Of course the answer is yes.”

Hell yeah, it’s working so fucking well. Dirk feels accomplished. He understands human interaction, _and_ he understands human body language. Dave is definitely chilling the fuck out, and Dirk can chill out as well. Mutual chilling out.

He’s starting to get a tension headache, but that’s probably cause his body really wants a longer nap than he got.

“Hey…” His voice is serious, but he’s sincerely restraining himself from poking Dave’s shoulder again, “horses are the fucking best, dude. I can’t believe this bull. But yeah, the horses will probably take that as a compliment, they’re free spirits and they’re strong and pure.” He can’t have Dave talking smack about his favourite mammals in the whole wide world. What would Rainbow Dash say.

“Anyhoof,” he says, just to make sure that hey, we’re still on good hoof with each other, “I guess I’ll just deal with liking T-rexes better now, since A, Jesus should listen to sense and not his dick, or the good of humanity, or whatever, but also I have to like them now since you compared them to horses.”

He drums his fingers against the armrest. If he moves at all, he’ll probably spook Dave again.

•

“No truly new ideas, just reworking and rehashing, as is appropriately reflective of the human psyche. But damn if there isn’t some real good niche shit slapped together by jackass number four twenty the second, the singular entity to connect the dots all for us.”

He gears up to duck and cover at the trailing tone, then huffs softly as he realizes he was getting wound up for an overstated declaration of his Bro’s status as horse nerd. Rainbow Brite was the most ironic shit aside from puppets and being intentionally bad at things, if the amount of times it had been playing early mornings was anything to go by. “Best at being horribly designed, yeah. They’re a massively heavy thing, poorly balanced on four super breakable fingers, that will just fall down and submit to mother nature if even one of those toothpicks they beat each other with snaps. Additionally-”

More of new-Bro’s words actually process properly and he has a delayed puff of amusement at Dirk’s use of _anyhoof_. “I’m telling you. If horses could comfortably be bipedal they would already be hunting us for sport instead of settling for eating small birds off the ground whenever they crave flesh. They wouldn’t even eat us, much. They’d do it for the sheer pleasure of it. Revenge for domestication.” His eyes are on his brother’s tapping fingers instead of whatever inane plot is playing out on screen. He’d probably understand it the same amount either way. “You sayin’ Jesus should get on the offensive against humanity? A bold artistic statement if there ever was one.”

•

“Deep.”

Is he a little insulted that Dave is insulting the best animals in the world?? Yeah. But he tries to not take it personally. None of his other friends really got as excited about horses as he did. If they got excited at all, really.

“But Imma have to disagree. Horses are awesome. They’re like. Fucking loyal. 'n strong. And …” Ok, let’s not get carried away. That’s probably uncool.

“But yeah, absolutely. Bring the lazers, Jesus. You deserve to go fuckin’ ham, nobody listened to you anyways.” He untucks a foot to let it hang over the ledge of the couch. “Would get him some damned respect. Hell yeah, how about that. I’d have joined that team. God _and_ anime is on my side.” He smirks a little, swinging his foot back and forth a little, keeping on drumming on the armrest quietly.

•

Maybe he’s been spending too much time around Rose. Well, okay, too much time compared to his other two friends. Who he is currently avoiding.

“Hey I’m not saying that they can’t team up with the most hard hearted buckaroo in the wild west for a truly epic duo, I’m just sayin’. One leg busted, gonzo. You can have a human with two thirds of a torso and no limbs and they still might kick your ass with vigor if you don’t watch your back. That’s more admirable than having nearly three sixty vision and still managing to freak the fuck out when they don’t like the look a certain twig is giving them.”

Dave is about to comment on the Jesus lasers, but stops short. “Wait- wait wait hold on dude you can’t just quote a goddamn _Vine_ at me like you’ve been drinking in internet subculture since the moment you got here, and then deploy it in casual conversation. Also, how’d you even get internet? Don’t think anybody was maintaining servers or keeping up infrastructure.”

•

Dirk just smirks, very pleased that he’s successfully changed subject _and_ impressed Dave all in one.

“I told you. Compilations-” and he can’t hold in the little laugh, finding Dave’s face hilarious; he’s always been told his laugh sounds kind of unhinged, probably cause he never tempered it; it was the same with Roxy, apparently. He muffles the laugh in his elbow though. “Dunno about the internet dude- it was always there. Probably got it integrated with electricity or some shit, I don’t know- Hal made sure he was online all the time.”

He chuckles a little more, probably way past tired at this point.

•

Dave’s eyebrows twitch up over the frame of his sunglasses as his tenseness at the burst of noise quickly fades. Bro _might_ have smirked if the situation called for it, maybe. It’s nothing short of jarring how much sheer energy is behind Dirk’s laugh, and the way he covers it as if he was sneezing into his arm vaguely confuses him. That couldn’t have been him trying to hide it, right? There’s just no point disguising it that much because it is not even a quarter of what would need to be done to keep an aura of perfect chill.

He doesn’t dislike it though.

“Right, right of course that bad boy is a major player in the relics of human history. Cool that your 'verse had things up enough to prevent the death of the cloud, though I’m not sure how even electricity could hold up five hundred years. Like the thing itself is fine obviously but the utility? Your Bro must’ve rigged something crazy up. Maybe current powered.” Dave shouldn’t pry. He really shouldn’t, especially with how he’s on thin ice and not-Bro seems like he’s in a sudden good humor.

His curiosity gets the better of him though. “Who’s Hal?”

•

The good humor melts off quick enough, fast filling with a kind of dreading shock. Dirk’s own brows rise for the occasion.

It’s incredibly weird, being asked about his life. Either, his friends knew, or they really didn’t want to know. An internal shiver goes through him.

“Hal. Uh. Halexander ‘AR’ Strider.” He can’t keep the snark out of his voice at the name, though it makes his stomach clench. “Formerly known as Auto Responder, then lil Hal. He. Uh.” Without noticing, he’s curling up a little. “Was a kid’s dumb brain uploaded to the internet, made immortal. Or so we previously thought, I fucking guess.” He shrugs, unsure how much info Dave would want; there’s a lot to pick from, and Dave’s nosy, but it’s a grim tale. “He took over most autonomous tasks. A real asshole.” After a small pause, “a friend, I guess.”

•

Dave shifts onto his side, one hand coming up to support his chin as his elbow presses into the back of the futon. This feels a bit like when they’d been in the store and he’d gotten to watch new-Bro work through the experience on his own, except now he’s involve. Caused it, even. Is this sadistic of him? If this is what it feels like to make people upset, even somewhat intentionally, then he has a hard time understanding why old-Bro enjoyed it so much. Maybe Dave is looking at it wrong.

His lips purse slightly as he grapples with the- everything, really. A _kid_ , even if one trapped in the digital world, and evidently a dead one at that. Christ. What’s wrong with him. He shouldn’t have made Dirk think about that just to satisfy him. He might not look that completely torn up, but he’d been calling for him in his sleep, had nearly brought him up previously. They must have been close, asshole or not. “Sorry for your loss man.” What else does he say to that? He doesn’t want to pick at the details.

“…do you think you’re up for finishing off the rest of your soup like you said? If you conk back out it’s going to be a nasty, fly-attracting glob by the time you get around to it. I can try heating it up myself this time.”

•

Is Dirk even sorry for the loss?? Thoughts slam into him like a freight-train, and it’s one, big, painful mess. That fucking asshole deserves no such words from Dave- but then that just hurts, cause Hal was with him the longest-. But it’s –

He opts to simply cut the thoughts out, like katana through butter. He can’t function with all that jumble in his brain, glass-shards in his brain-tissue.

Pushed into a different topic altogether, he pretends they never had that discussion. “… If you’re up for it, go grab it, dude. Flies sounds like a bad idea.” He sighs a little looking back to the TV. He hopes something boring will come on. Maybe he can escape to nothingness.

Sleep, that is. Not the other offer.

“Juss don’t light the house on fire.” He stifles a yawn, reminded how sleepy he really is. Huh.

•

“Yeah, figured it wouldn’t jive with your whole tidiness thing there.” Dave is getting up, but while it’s stiff, it’s nothing like the fear-bolt that he’d done earlier. For whatever reason, this Bro wants him close by. For now at least. Reheating some soup is basically nothing, and it’s new-Bro’s soup that he’d gotten his spoon in anyway.

“Damn, here I was thinking I’d get fancy and whip out the blow torch. Flambé that bitch, get a nice crust going.” It’s insane to think Home Ec class was even remotely useful in any applicable way, but this probably wasn’t the intended use of stovetop safety. Eh. It’s fine, so long as he keeps the heat low the spoon shouldn’t melt too badly. Just warp a tiny bit.

The can is sniffed as per habit, then back on the stove it goes. “Do, uh, do you want me to keep talkin’ or are you looking to keep your head until well after you’ve chowed down?” Even smaller-Bro probably needed a lot more food than Dave to maintain himself. It makes him wonder where Bro kept the rest of the stash, or if he was slipping out for fast food more than Dave realized. That shouldn’t sting. He’s perfectly capable of going out and getting what he needs himself, he hadn’t needed his brother to offer to shell out every single time he went for a burger.

•

“Depends if you wanna talk or nah…?” It feels a bit wrong to use a living human being as some kind of white noise for sleep; and he doesn’t want to him to think that he’s boring or anything like that. “Dunno why ‘m so sleepy. You’re not boring or anythin’” It falls a little flat, as he stifles yet another yawn.

He tries to think back to when he got a proper night of sleep, but finds himself struggling; it’s been a blur of getting the sendificator ready, planning, and cutting his losses for a couple of months before he got here. He probably fell asleep some of the time, but he was really more focused on getting the fuck out.

Dirk leans an arm over the couch so he can watch Dave make food. Again he’s struck by the thought that it’s like watching a movie. Maybe it’s easier, thinking of this all as a movie- that people don’t need his input, that everything is predestined, that he can just observe and see what’s gonna happen, that he don’t have to get emotionally invested. He shakes it off, but the thought lingers stubbornly. Would be better for both the movie and him.

“So you like soup…? What other stuff do you like?” Guess he wants Dave to talk after all.

•

That’s a lie if he ever heard one. Dave knows for a fact that John doesn’t read all of his rants. Then again, he does send him a _lot._ Anybody would skip any questions or dubious statements enclosed in that much shit. “Hey I’m basically always down to toss some words out, it’s more a fight of picking what the topic of the minute is going to be. I can get that sweet flow started up pretty much whenever there’s no buildup this is a dammed up artificial lake above a big ass ravine there’s permanent overflow but you sure don’t need to wait for the thing to refill. Also you might be tired because you’ve just flung yourself into another universe and then stayed up for more than twenty four consecutive hours workin’ on things. I get tired even considering school stuff and you were already digging through the stuff online like a fuckin’ champ I mean they’d call you up if I was in danger of bein’ kicked out for having delirious levels of sicknasty talent that they just couldn’t handle having on the premises. Or if I was dipping out on a class with a teacher tat notices when kiddos up and disappear for the hour. They’ve been gettin’ real anal about it so I’m tempted to stage a protest like fuck it I know random kid number twenty can’t afford the cost of pissing in public because some power tripping bitch couldn’t be bothered to allow a bathroom break after we book it across campus but I’m already firmly on the shit list for like at least five reasons but damn if it wouldn’t be absolutely legendary to whip it out and piss in the trashcan. I mean it pro’lly wouldn’t be worth the suspension and possible charges if someone gets _real_ pissy about it, but I seriously doubt anyone has the balls to stand up and make a biohazard of their pants as a form of free speech.”

Hm. This is getting a little piss-centric. Dave should probably just answer the question instead of letting it loose. “I mean soups alright it’s hydrating and easy to portion like you just slurp however much you want, you don’t even gotta worry about silverware if you don’t wanna. I’m not picky I like whatever. I mean I’ll go ham on Abuelita’s hot chocolate like I’ve never had it in hot form but the little tablet things you’re s’posed to dissolve are pretty mind blowing on their own. Spice it up. Basically anything with flavor is something I’m good with.” He does wish he could have less salt in things though. Just about everything he gets is packed with the stuff and while he appreciates its preservative powers as much as any medieval peasant, it would be nice to have something spiced with more than that. The soup smells good.

“Pizza, of course, burgers, tacos, burritos, sandwiches, hot dogs, taquito, and yeah those are all basically the same genre of food but it’s a banger for obvious reasons. Humanity got bread and meat and immediately went oh damn, this slaps, and then never looked back. French fries are also good, but especially a proper curly fry. Dunno if you want more specific than that but again pretty much whatever I’d even give liver a go though I can’t say for sure I’d like it considering I’ve never tried.”

•

Without his consent, his head gently puts all of Dave’s favourites into its own little pocket of ‘how to care for smol Dave’, and stamping it on top with ‘prefers hot food’. It’s very different from his own tastes, but that’s probably to be expected since his array of food-choices mostly went to seafood, noodles and some kind of chicken jerky.

“Gotta appreciate the national foods.” He gives Dave a little thumbs up, still watching him making the soup. It’s not rocket science, but just seeing Dave in action is mystifyingly satisfying.

“'n to comment, ‘s not like I’m bein’ tested at the curriculum. I juss wanted to see what was up.” And getting a bit sucked in for science, but Dave doesn’t need to know about his kind of detrimental hyperfixation.

“‘n you’re skippin’ class?” he tuts, obviously not taking it very seriously. School sounds a little useless anyways, he’d always thought.“Got a lil’ troublemaker in this house.” The irony is great, considering the things he’s done.

•

Dave glances back to make sure he’s reading his brother’s tone correctly, just barely catching that thumbs up, and god. Damn. It. He really, really should not have his breath be catching a little just at that, stuck in a weird pull between absolute pride at the seal of approval and the anxiety of thinking for a split second that he was getting the customary thumbs down as way of warning. He swallows and shakes it off.

“Not usually. I just get bored after being shown the same powerpoint jazzed up with outdated memes in an attempt to up student engagement. If I see another minion I’m going to fake a seizure on the floor rather than have to listen to the sad, sad effort to get me to care about the stuff I can grab off Wikipedia sources and is going to be outdated in a couple years anyway. Plus the textbooks are old as balls and I’m pretty sure that the science teacher would burn the section of evolution if given the chance. Not like I’m missing much.”

•

Dirk gives off a tired giggle, muffling it a little against the back of the couch. “Sounds fucking hilarious. I’d _pay_ to see it.”

Ahh, to walk down a school corridor, being shoved in the shoulder by the big bad jock and worrying about his next maths test. Maybe Dave will make a movie (moive) about it in the future if he encourages him a little. Haha.

“Is your teacher like an old haggard woman or a startlingly handsome young man that makes the girls sigh every time he comes in? Or did they do the roleswap with a hot young female teacher just trying to give the most rowdy class in school a proper education, but tut, the young students just don’t know how kind-hearted and amazing she is, and she gets objectified and laughed at except for you, who totally somehow gets how hard-working she is and you get into an illicit relationship. The second season is pretty much porn, but that’s fine, cause they blur out dicks and tits and that makes it all better and PG, since it _is_ a high school after all.”

…

“Or it could be a hot old guy. Like Robin Williams.” What the fuck is he saying?

•

Dave never, ever thought he would get to hear this kind of spiraling nonsense from Bro. It kind of excites him even if he is prone to the same sexually charged referencing that Dave is known to continually fall victim to. He isn’t horny, he swears. Ever.

“Robin Williams isn’t hot. His DILF vibes are off the chart but he’s still unfuckable, like he just had those vibes. Also? Any hot young female teachers pretty much are guaranteed to quit to work at Taco Bell for better hours and pay, plus not having to deal with teens just blatantly staring at her tits for hours on end. Hell is when someone stands up to give a presentation and doesn’t even try to hide the fact that they’re high and rock hard. Like sir. This is history class. You cannot be getting this riled up over the constitution. Nah. We do have a couple semi-hot older dudes like y’know probably going grey so they just shaved their head and worked out harder to compensate and aw shit they got pecs now. Fuckin’ track teacher, could just- uh. Soups almost warm I think.” Somehow he gets the feeling that the particulars about actual teachers Dirk might _meet_ is a little too far.

“I promise high school is not even PG-13 this is a hard R, we’ve had people get kicked out for blowjobs in the stairwell because they forgot about the cameras. Like take it to the bathroom at least you exhibitionists.”

•

Dirk chokes a laugh; who the fuck would get hard-ons while giving a presentation? “Damn. Well fuck you blockbuster ‘She’s the man’, why wouldn’t you give me an authentic view of how fucking crazy teenagers are?”

“I feel bereft.” He adds, still smirking as Dave obviously slips and tells him his PE teacher or whatever is hot as balls. Noted.

“Not that I’m saying you’re not right about hot teachers getting more respect at Taco Bell, but this particular teacher is like. A fucking saint. She will singlehandedly revolutionize the school and make it heaven on earth, and she’ll still have the time to get you the perfect Christmas present that reminds you of the best time of your life. There’s snow in Texas, Dave, that’s how perfect this woman is.”

He sighs in mock dreaminess, watching as Dave handles the soup. “Oh well. I’ll get a glimpse into the sweet high school life if I’m ever called in for a parental meeting or whatever. Do all lockers smell? I always wondered.”

•

Dave has never blushed this much in front of old-Bro, but this one doesn’t seem to mind any more than Rose might give him a good natured ribbing, hell, he’s being even gentler than that since he’s actually sort of going along with Dave’s inanity instead of poking holes in it or turning it around on him. “Snow in Texas huh? Damn, can’t believe she’s a cold hearted killer on top of all that. We get a flurry and the whole town shits itself and people think hey I bet this stuff is easy to drive on, then we got a pile up and the whole thing is nasty. Also it’d be awkward as hell to romance a teacher like sure porn loves it but that’d basically classically condition you to get worked up over whatever subject they teach. Plus the energy would be wack in the classroom, it’s super obvious when things are weird there. Nobody wants to sit at the table we all know Susie got fucked on by the last teacher. Forever tainted.”

His nose wrinkles a little bit and he turns off the heat. It wasn’t too hard to heat up something from room temperature at least. “Depends which hall. They might smell like onions, vape juice, or just the natural musk au greasy, sweaty teens still thinking deodorant is optional. The best locker smell is no locker smell. Trust me, you didn’t miss out.” Pulling the can off the stove, Dave carefully holds it by the rim and carries it back over to new-Bro. “Here y’ go.”

•

“Damn, didn’t think about the ramifications of the teacher being an actual killer. How do you keep the peace, they all ask, how are you this strong. They don’t even know that her name is Elsa, and they don’t comment on how fucking huge her eyes are-”

The soup is set in front of him, and his voice dies out; he turns a little red. “Uh. I thought-” Dave was the one who brought up the soup, so why _wouldn’t_ he be the one to eat it? But it’s dumb to say no to food, and dumber when _Dave_ made it for him. It’s … He tries controlling his body temperature, but it’s not that easy.

“Nothing.” He swallows a little, sitting properly up instead of hanging over the couch like a sloth.

“You’re not hungry…?” Not that he _doesn’t_ have ten more cans of different soups but this _is_ Dave’s.

•

Oh. He’d misinterpreted, of course tiny-Bro didn’t want Dave cooking for him like a damn housewife. It wasn’t even cooking, he was just rewarming something the same way new-Bro just had. He shoves his hands in his pockets to make it completely obvious he’s not going to be taking the can back either way.

“Nah. Already got my fill for the day, I’m all set.” It’s definitely odd to realize that he wants to hang around and keep talking for more reasons than pretending he isn’t trying to ignore the way the past few days rattled him to the core. Or that it happened at all. Dave sits down in his spot again. “Figured it might help you get to sleep, y’know?”

•

“- right, no, that…” he nods once, quickly, taking the warm can into his lap. Feels kinda nice to hold, though the bottom kind of burns.

“Smart thinkin’…” he’s decidedly red now, and he stirs the soup slowly, then takes a spoonful in his mouth. “Uhh.” His lips rub together a little, unsure if he’s stating the obvious but wanting it out there since they’re on such uneven ground, “but whatever, if you do get hungry we bought lots, so…”

He shrugs, rubbing his cheek briefly. Ugh.

•

The praise is nice, nicer than it has any right to be considering this Bro is clearly easier to impress than the old one. But logic doesn’t erase the warmth in his stomach that’s definitely not from his last helping of soup.

“We?” Dave snorts. “More like I tagged along. It’s your stuff, you don’t have to share it all with me.” Or at all, but he isn’t going to say that when the offer is open. Maybe if he gets real desperate sometime. Still, the last thing he wants is to accidentally take something that littler-Bro had been saving for later, or leave out of something important. Dave has no way of knowing what his favorites are. Better to just have that possibility on the sidelines just in case than to hop in willy nilly, especially when he’s already this deep in the hole with him. The longer they go up on this roller coaster, the harder the drop is going to slam him back into reality to make up for everything, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the view now and then.

•

Dirk takes another spoonful of soup in hopes off warming up the cold lump in his throat.

“S just soup. And, y’know. I know shit all about money, but we have a lot. We’re bros, why wouldn’t we share…” the last part is a softer murmur, and he warms his hands on the can with slightly pursed lips.

He _wants_ to share his joy of small luxuries with Dave. That his Bro didn’t want to doesn't make sense, and he’s starting to realize he doesn’t want to take over whatever role this Dirk had.

He really hopes Dave doesn’t want to either.

•

“Yeah but. It’s, y’know. Yours? I’m practically an adult here, and I’m already living rent free. I don’t mind having to handle myself when it comes to groceries; it’s not like this is new to me.” The idea that he’s anything but tolerated is laughable.

It’s not like he blamed Bro; Dave doesn’t know the circumstance of how he came to be in his care, but the age difference alone gave him an idea that he wasn’t exactly planned for. It’d be way, way uncool to ask a) what happened to their parents, or b) if his Bro was his biological father like he’d half suspected since about fourteen. It’s not like this version of Bro would have any idea anyway. If he had any other family, he already would have been sent off, so why ask? It wouldn’t change anything and he can’t imagine Bro would do the same fatherly antics he heard about John’s dad pulling all the time.

•

“No, 'm kinda figuring that out.” He hates how his voice goes monotone and off, but he ignores it in favour of looking into his can of soup. He doesn’t want to look at Dave right now; it kinda aches in his chest in an uncomfortable way.

“Still,” he continues bravely, though his voice goes even softer, “y’know. What am I gonna do with all that money. We can probably buy the whole fuckin’ supply of soup with _one_ of the accounts. And I’m gonna be earnin’ more. Soup would be floodin’ outta the windows Dave, you gonna expose botha us to drowning via soup? I’m thinkin’ you should contribute a lil, make sure ‘m not fillin’ this place fulla noodles, chicken strips and cans’s soup. An’ anyways, ‘s just an advance on your fuckin’, I dunno, inheritance. You think I care about money, dude? You can pay me in fresh fish or whatever, my only proper currency-”

He really can’t stop his mouth; it’s dumb- why couldn’t things between them be chill? Why did Dirk have to be such an asshole?

"I dunno, dude, I don’t know if I’m missing something crucial in human relations, speak up if you feel like, oh boy, Dirk is feral talkin’, seein’ too many vids on his future net or whatever, but isn’t family kind of about … _sharin’_. And … " Ugh, no, emotions, his throat is closing up and his brow feels clammy.

“… You’re welcome to the soup. 'n whatever else I buy 'nless I tell ya not.” He clears his throat in uncomfortably, briefly massaging it before taking another sip.

•

Dave looks at his lap. He doesn’t enjoy the way this Bro makes him feel stupid for complying with the previous expectations. They weren’t unreasonable. The urge to apologize bubbles up, and that’s still an unfamiliar enough one that he has to pause and wonder what exactly he should be apologizing for. Not knowing better? Assuming that Dirk wouldn’t _want_ him to leech off him any more than he already does?

“I. Think Bro was more about sharin’ separately. Like I could use his Xbox when he wasn’t going to. And he already gave me an entire room to myself, that’s more than he had.” He’s pulling at a thread in his jeans and he needs to stop before he ruins another pair. “Whole lot more than legally required. It’s not about the money, it’s about, you know. Learning to take care of myself because I won’t be stayin’ here forever and being self sufficient and building up the strength and know-how for that is a lot more important than being babied all my life like most kids.”

When he defends Bro against criticism from his friends, it’s usually in a lot more dismissive of a way, or else acting like it’s normal. “We aren’t exactly your typical nuclear family. Also. I think you’re grossly underestimating the soup supply. Could fill the whole building.” Dave wants to be able to go into a rant, field off the implied accusations, but this is Bro too. Why didn’t he get it? “…Thanks, but I’m really doin’ fine on my own. I’m sure I’ll be limping already with the sheer amount of textbooks I gotta haul around school. For all their ranting about good posture being a cornerstone of health they really do fuck-all to encourage that.” Walking off whatever free access would cost is almost undoubtedly not something he can afford, not if he doesn’t want to work twice as hard at keeping counsellors from trying to pull him out of class for their bullshit questions. It was annoying.

•

“…” All Dave is saying is just further solidifying things he’s been puzzling together, and Dave defending that feels horribly wrong. But maybe that’s just how their dynamic was? He feels a seed of doubt in him, but words pop out that hints to that Dave actually _does_ know that some of this shit is dumb; what is _legally_ required…? Sounds like something a good Bro would do, right.

Still, he doesn’t want to tarnish whatever good Dave had with his Bro either- what they had… Well, they had time. And fuck if he knows any of the good memories they had, but that’s also cause Dave hasn’t told him any yet. If that’s distrust towards him, fine, but…

It feels _wrong_.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong for bein’ independent. It’s an essential life-skill.” He’s only mumbling now, and he massages his throat again, not liking how _small_ his voice makes him sound. “I … from what’ve seen, you’re doin’ a great job at that. Kudos. I- think you’re a cool kid.” His brows furrows, his lips pursing up. He clenches the can in his hands.

“Don’t think you understand me either though, I… I.” Want to be closer? Want Dave to be there? Want Dave to depend on him? Is that narcissistic of him, maybe even cruel? The doubt blooms in him. Is Dirk pushing Dave into becoming his bro…? Wasn’t that what he wanted to avoid in the first place?

He’s so fucking selfish he doesn’t realize it until it’s slapping him in the face it seems.

Dirk shakes his head.

“If you don’t want a nuclear family, or the twisted equivalent, then- fuck that noise, dude. I get wantin’ to succeed on your own.”

Chest heavy, he tries shutting the door to the two of them becoming… maybe, what he wanted it to become. Maybe he wanted easy conversations, SBaHJ, a rambling voice and the bare necessities. He’ll live on without it. He told himself he would. And he will, especially if Dave doesn’t want it.

Let the dude live his life, Dirk, for fucks sake. It seems like he’s fought for it.

•

How does Dave even approach everything that makes him feel? “You- think _I’m_ cool?” Not at all what he should be hung up on, it’s exceptionally un-cool to be doubting anybody that thinks he’s as chill as he’s striving to be. “It’s not that, uh, it’s-”

He shakes his head, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before yanking on it a little. Embarrassing. Dave holds onto his thighs instead. Can’t go one minute of letting anybody think he’s legitimately cool. He can’t do it as effortlessly as Bro could, but it’d be even more of a chump move not to at least try to compare. “…guess I just really don’t get it is all. Probably just because there’s not anybody quite like Bro even among himself.” This Dirk just happened to be better at swordplay. “To be fair, even I didn’t understand what was goin’ on under the cap but I like to think I had a solid grasp on most of his reasoning. Not so much about what I want as what’s good for me. I don’t know what I would even do if I was dropped in some weird ass domestic twilight zone with a mom, dad, one point five siblings, and a dog. In case you hadn’t noticed, Bro wasn’t exactly what you’d call family friendly.”

•

“Wouldn’t really call me family friendly either…” his face is still a little hot, but this time it’s shame. Yeah, he thinks mini-Dave is kind of cool, doesn’t he. It’s probably mostly remnants of late evenings watching clips of his bro, hormones going wild and having that voice say his name so god damned fucking sweetly-. Fuck. Yeah, it leaves him starstruck, even with mini-Dave who hasn’t accomplished much compared, but.

It keeps returning to the fact that it’s _Dave_ , so of course he finds him cool. Or. Maybe not cool? But that’s okay too. Cool is like, an umbrella term.

Knock knock, against the can. Whistle.

“Maybe… We can both agree that we don’t know shit, and…” He shrugs. And then what? He’s not sure what Dave wants at all, “feel things out?” Ugh. He sounds like a goddamn tool.

•

“You’re about ten times more family friendly than he is- was. I mean, you saw how everything was.” Dave gestures vaguely around them. “Pretty sure it’s not very chill with most parental types to have suggested puppet fucking plastered over the walls throughout every formative stage of development. Can’t count the number of times I nearly got CPS called from not realizing someone was actually listening to what I was saying for a little while, before I learned to get a grip and not try to commiserate with someone over shit they don’t even try to understand.” He doesn’t mean to sound frustrated, or twitch at the sounds that Dirk makes. Both happen anyway.

“I mean, Bro wouldn’t even try to feel things out, he’d slice right through all this shit and set everything down without sayin’ a word. I don’t know what it is we’re supposed to be feeling out here.”

•

The urge to explain in gross detail why he is an abominable human being is very great, but Dirk looks at that urge and puts it aside. Dave is _considerably_ younger than himself. And while he could argue that Dave actually has more streets-marts and experiences relevant to this world than Dirk can probably even work himself up to, that carries some weight.

He won’t burden Dave with all his shit. It hasn’t worked with any of his other friends, and he understands why.

“I think it’s really fucking clear neither of us know what to do in this situation, so it’s good we got this in the clear.” His finger is tapping against the can, “and I’m not gonna dump all my baggage on you like you’re a loading truck. But I … Know. That what I once considered ‘cutting the bullshit’ actually most of the time means ‘explaining what the fuck you’re trying to do’.”

It’s too easy for him to imagine himself just doing whatever the fuck he finds the most appropriate- or inappropriate- and assuming people get the gist of it.

“And I’ll be the first one to say that I should _not_ be a father. But even I know that CPS are most often called for a reason. And it’s not cause people find you too dependent.” A sigh. He didn’t think he could hate himself this much.

…

“I kind of forgot where I was going with this. I guess I just feel we’re… Misunderstanding each other. A whole fucking lot, really. And I know from experience that just doing it my way fucks shit up beyond recognition. So. Gotta do the opposite and actually talk.”

Another pause,

“… Like this.”

•

Dave’s leg bounces. Maybe it would be better to confront his friends after all. This is too much. First Dirk just. Confirms his suspicion, then makes it even more overwhelmingly clear that Dave was not and is not wanted. It’s hard and he won’t _stop_ trying to keep the conversation going. “Okay fine. I’ll talk and explain. I don’t know what the fuck your deal is. I get why you’d want to steal the spotlight from Bro, who wouldn’t, but you’re seriously underestimating how fine I was before you came along and fucked everything up. It might not have been cookie cutter perfect but it was _my_ life and now you’re here acting like you can upstage him by- by-” Another vague handwave, more emphasized this time.

" _Whatever_ it is you think you’re doing. I don’t want your fucking pity. Bro was a shithead sometimes, I know, but at least he never treated me like I was-" A kid. “Like I was weak and dumb enough to eat all my food at once like some toddler instead of knowing how to save it for when I actually need it, or. _Ugh_.” He shakes his head.

“You think I never tried talking? Are you shitting me right now? I did so much goddamned talking that the fact that I should actually focus on strifing instead of running my mouth where I might bite my damn tongue so hard I have to tap out so I can stop making a mess all over only actually sunk in by the time I was eleven! Get off your high horse and stop preaching to me about the powers of _communication_. I’m not going to be a dickhole and try to gather proof about you murdering my real Bro just because you don’t pull the oh so loving and understanding daddy shtick. I don’t fucking care. Sure, it was scary to see, but I’d rather shit go back to the way it was than you- you-” Dave makes a strained noise and yanks on his hair before getting up. “I never understood Bro, so I sure as fuck don’t have a chance at understanding your whole deal. Was that enough talking for you, or should I keep going?” His throat hurts.

•

Hearing his _own_ worst fears confirmed is, in all honesty, heartbreaking. Dirk could not have said it more aptly if he tried.

Somehow, staying with shit-stain previous Dirk is better than dealing with him. It figures. He’s too fucked up to compare to someone who beat the shit out of him. So … That’s a pill to swallow.

And yeah, while horses are fucking awesome, he supposes it’s also time he got off it. He’d been assuming way too much. Dave does not need _or_ want his attention, and he’s pretty much grown up. He … Kind of wants nothing to do with Dirk, it sounds like. It sounds like he wants to stay in the apartment until he finds something better to do, and he’d rather Dirk shut the fuck up, cause his previous Bro didn’t bother to talk and it fucks him up that Dirk would even try.

Well. The least Dirk can do is give Dave what he wants. It was just a small misunderstanding, after all.

“… Nah. It’s pretty crystal clear.” The cup is getting cool in his hands. He misses the heat, even when it scorched his thigh. He feels he should just fuck off somewhere to give Dave space, but it feels like he’s weighted into the couch, heavy as lead.

•

" _Great_ , glad we reached an understandin’." Dave’s stomach is twisting into knots, because while it had felt like he was nearly bursting with force of the words straining to escape him, now that they’re out, it’s sinking in that he said them at all. He should not have. There’s a whole laundry list of reasons he should not have, not the least of which is that he’s sure new-Bro isn’t going to think quite so highly of him as he did, though that part is completely deserved. Dave wouldn’t have been able to keep tricking young-Bro into thinking he’s cool for much longer anyway. It had still been nice while it lasted, even if he knows that the only way he would ever actually impress his brother is when he’s _not_ his brother, or his father, or anything to him that would have let Bro know how full of shit he is.

It still pisses him off that Dirk doesn’t answer the question that he himself had been dancing around saying outright. “Look, just. What do you want, from me. Already said I’m not gonna tattle.” He’s ready to walk out, but the idea that _now_ the guy would clam up when he actually wants something out of him is infuriating.

•

The sarcasm makes his gut clench, so Dirk just nods. Why is Dave still here? He made it pretty clear what was up. Maybe he _was_ expecting him to get out of his face asap?

Ah. It seems as if there was a question hidden in between all those 'oh snap’s. He feels dumb, dumber than before. What _Dirk_ wants doesn’t even matter, does it? Cause it’s the exact opposite of what Dave wants, and Dave isn’t going to approve of… Whatever words spill out of his mouth.

“… I…” What does he even say?! Well, _I_ want to hang around and be your bestest bro? Too bad, you have to deal with me and my neuroticism, welcome to hell v.2, now including a younger, more inept Bro!

His neck twitches, and he wants to shake his hands out, but they’re gripping the can a bit too tight.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here, dude. What I _want_ …” he shakes his head. “I want you to do whatever you want to do. If that’s you doin’ everythin’ by yourself or… Yeah. I…” He shakes his head again, the corners of his mouth dipping down unhappily, “Fuck.”

He downs the rest of his soup, standing up with what feels like it takes immense energy. He pads over to the kitchen and pours water into it for cleaning later.

“I don’t strictly _need_ you for anything, so don’t feel like you have to…” cater to me? Talk to me? “go out of your way for me.” He walks back for his phone, captchaloguing it.

“As for what _I_ _want_ , it really doesn’t fucking matter. Our interests do not align.” He flashsteps to open the hatch up to the attic-space.

“I’m gonna leave you a weekly allowance starting tomorrow. It’ll be on the table. Take it or flush it, I don’t care.”

And up he goes. He closes the hatch behind himself.

•

It’s a slap in the face. Unplanned yet again. Dave is just another undesirable surprise for Bro to work around no matter the circumstances of their meeting. He’s not needed in the least. Of course he hadn’t been needed by original edition Bro, but there had been something weirdly nice about helping Bro, this one, adjust to how things work.

It’s confusing, for a moment, but it quickly clarifies into the conclusion that not only has he been deemed not worth the hassle after this little tantrum, he’s not permitted to be privy to whatever young-Bro’s actual goals were with him. Probably just sparing him the pain of saying outright that there weren’t and will not be any. Somehow that makes it sting more.

At least he doesn’t have to make a choice about whether to end the conversation, because Dirk is dismissing him and disappearing into the crawlspace. _Our interests do not align._

Dave stumbles to his own room once he’s caught his breath some, sitting heavily on his bed and shooting a quick message to the group chat so everyone knows he’s still alive, yes he’s “going through it” right now, he’ll explain when he’s ready to talk, no he hasn’t been put in the hospital, he’s physically fine.

Dave doesn’t come out again until the next morning, flash stepping out the front door so he can catch the bus. It had taken him some serious time to sleep, and he’d only gotten about an hour or so before it was time to go again.

•

The night is spent on the mattress shoved into the slimmest space in the crawlspace; he could have chosen to pull it out to a place where he could sit up, but finds that squishing into the little space is the most comfortable for him. No-one is gonna come attack him from the back now.

Still reeling from their confrontation, Dirk brings out his phone again and checks pesterchum. Roxy hasn’t seen the message yet. Maybe it was like … her teenage account, and she moved it. Dirk doesn’t feel comforted by his own excuses at all.

Backing even further into the dark little hole of a sleepingspace he’s found for himself, he looks to the trap-door, then, sure Dave can’t hear through there if he keeps the volume down, he puts on a clip from his Bro.

“Sup lil dude. Today’s a big day, isn’t it! When I was twelve-” and off he drones, his suit a deep red, and he has a gold earring that he’s seen him wear at least two times. He’s never figured out if it was fake or not, but he likes the red and gold combination. Very Gryffindor of him.

He knows the clip by heart, cause he’s seen them all about a bajillion times. he takes off his shades and keeps on watching, propping the phone up against a stack of magazines.

He wonders what his bro would think about him now. He wonders if he even thought about what kind of an adult the kid he was saying all this to would become. If he knew he’d end up an asshole, and a murderer.

Sleep doesn’t want to claim him; as usual it comes and goes in bursts. He might have gotten an hour or two in, but then he realizes he promised Dave an allowance, and he has to actually take out money…

Ugh. That means going outside. At least he’s pretty sure Dave’s sleeping.

Soundlessly, he grabs the cards and flashsteps downstairs. Shoes on, shades on, google maps in hand.

Despite feeling like he wants to choke everyone who comes near him, the trip goes flawlessly; he dumps two hundred bucks on the table, adding a stickynote with a scribbled ‘DAVE’ on it. He underlines the name.

The crawlspace is a sanctuary after going outside.


	4. Chapter 4

Dave slogs through classes, far more in line with the usual student attitude on a Monday. He hasn’t attempted his homework, and that’s unusual even for him. His teachers are disappointed but Dave consoles himself with the oh so comforting reminder that at least it isn’t as bad as Bro being disappointed. Either version.

Old Bro didn’t care so long as he passed and wasn’t performing badly enough to require after school meetings, and this one probably wouldn’t even care about that much. He could drop out if he wanted. Maybe. He hasn’t looked into it and he doesn’t really want to do that so much as he just wants to lay down and sleep for a week. There’s enough on his plate, but it’s still probably for the best that school takes him out of the apartment. He’s not sure he could handle the vigilance of watching for a strife all day after yesterday.

Almost missing the allowance on the table, Dave has to count it three times before swallowing hard and taking it back to his room. Into his closet he goes, taking care that even in the event of a night vision camera, nothing could catch the way he hid it away in that little space between a shelf and the wall. He has no idea if this Bro is the kind to take things away- he’s awfully giving and Dave should take what he can before he sees new-Bro _genuinely_ angry with him, and without the buffer of playing friendly so he’d keep quiet. Sure, he _could_ try and hold that up again, but he seriously doubts that it would be beneficial to get leverage on someone perfectly capable of killing and disposing of someone without a trace.

As much as every part of him screams to avoid new-Bro at all costs while things settle back into routine, some things can’t wait up for his feelings, Bro’s remains least of all. He goes back out almost immediately.

He buys a cheap tarp at a hardware store, and goes on a little trip to find out where on earth he’s supposed to get medical supplies besides Amazon. He’s lucky to find about everything he thinks he’s going to need, even if it is scattered across a few different places, and get back on a bus home just as dark is settling. The idea of curfew isn’t familiar to him outside of movies.

Dave reviewed what he needed to do for the umpteenth time, then braces himself and lays out the tarp on the kitchen floor before clearing his throat and raising his voice. “Uh. Bro? I’m gonna be… fuck it. I’m cutting up old Bro down here now if you aren’t about to use the kitchen. Alright?”

•

Trying to read up on contemporary etiquette is as amusing as it is fucking frustrating. Dirk is fully aware of that, cause he’d tried to understand Jane’s weird little social cues and her ancient meme-culture; he’d learnt a lot from her, but the worst is that it has branches; she had more of a boomer humour with some surprising zest of a Z-gen there to give her some punch; Not like Dirk at all, and least of all similar to Dave.

He tries to find where he went wrong beyond the obvious. Was he too flat? But no, he had been very honest, and very open. That did seem to be the problem, but when he searches ‘I try to be open and share my thoughts but they won’t listen’, they tell the one who posted it that it’s better for them to part ways amicably.

They’re not even amicable.

So instead, he buys them a new fridge and freezer, sure he can bring it up on the ceiling until Dave’s finished with his stuff;

And not long after Dirk has thought that, he hears Dave yell up to him. Uh.

Does that mean they’re friends again?

Reeling and a little freaked out that Dave might be closer to Jake’s personality than he’d thought, he grabs the phone (no answer from Roxy) and replies,

TT: ok 👍

He almost wrote cool, but that might be taken wrong. A ban pun as well, though the continuation would be a little funny.

Ah shit.

TT: You need me for something?

Maybe he needs Dirk to move the torso; he didn’t seem able to do it last time… And honestly, he’s a little interested in what Dave is doing. How he’ll go about it. What he’ll actually do; is he going to actually keep the whole goddamn torso…? Seems overkill.

Haha.

•

Wow. This Bro uses emojis. He doesn’t even want to talk to Dave now, which really isn’t all that surprising. Standard edition didn’t either. He’s about to put his phone down and get to work dragging Bro the first out of the fridge with the hopes of minimum spillage when he gets the second message and has to check again that he’s on the right chat. (Of course he is, there’s not many orange assholes around.)

…the extra hands would probably be helpful. This is going to get _messy_ and the last thing Dave want is to screw up this late into it. Probably wouldn’t be much more time to delay either, and the less time it spends at room temperature the better.

TG: nah but if you really want get in on this youre welcome to hold up some choice flesh flaps while i get in there  
TG: messy is an underestimation of epic proportions

Dave briefly wonders what kind of sewage treatment Bro’s other remains are going through, then quickly comes to the conclusion he doesn’t know enough about infrastructure and he really, really does not want to consider the idea of it getting back in the drinking water supply somehow. He has limits. Bro is probably getting illegally dumped in the ocean.

The conversation is sufficient excuse to wait just a tiny bit longer on committing to further desecration of what remained of Bro’s corpse.

•

Holding your own corpse open while your tiny big bro cuts into you to… do something with the corpse as a memoir? Yeah, sure, he can get down with that.

It’s easy to push aside any queasiness, though his heart still thuds pathetically fast. Does this really mean Dave is kind of… Not pushing him away? No, that’s dumb. He bade it crystal fucking clear what was going to happen, and it would be beyond moronic if Dirk started getting hopes at this point. But Dirk _did_ say he wanted Dave to succeed in whatever it was he wanted so.

That means helping him to get there, right?

Right.

He uncurls from where he’s been holed up for the past couple hours, and opens up the door to the crawlspace and jump down. The place looks like a scene from Dexter. It’s not even aesthetic though; he probably went for the cheapest crap he could get. That makes sense though; why would you use money of shit you’re just gonna throw away anyway?

“Like what you’ve done to the place.” Dirk had the thought to just shut up and let himself be guided, but he can’t seem to shut up. If it’s a need to be recognized by his bro or the need to hear his own voice, he doesn’t know.

•

Dave flinches of course, because it’s never good when Bro drops down instead of ignoring him in favor of simply appearing wherever it is he has in mind, but he _had_ asked for help. Sort of. He hadn’t actually expected to be indulged with it. Maybe new-Bro takes some kind of twisted pleasure in seeing the slain version of himself further mutilated, as more proof of how despite his numerous weak points, he’s still the superior version when it comes down to it.

“Thanks, I was aiming for home hospital chic. Would’ve done it in the bath if we had one, fill it up with ice and make sure the light flickers at the appropriate level of ominous. It’s what he would have wanted.” He has no clue what Bro would have wanted. Probably for his remains to have been chucked over the roof to splatter any pedestrians in the splash zone. Either way, the version of him still around didn’t seem to give a shit, so. He’s all Dave’s.

Better get started then. Swinging open the fridge, he starts hauling the bag out and onto the plastic laid out on the floor. “Okay, so, this is obviously going to be some amateur work because most places aren’t about to pass me the mortuary tools without some kind of ID, but I figure you can get ahold of a few fixatives for me if what I already have isn’t enough.” Dave is wearing a little LED headlamp; he’s going to need good light, and his nitrile gloves will most certainly be unfit to touch any flashlights or switches.

•

What Dave is saying is pretty funny, but Dirk isn’t in a particularly tickled mood. It just feels hollow and awkward, where he’s shut the door on his pesky, butt-hurt little emotions.

“Right.” Well, it seems like he’s done his research at least. “I think I have a couple of connections that would give it to me easily enough.” Bro had a finger _everywhere_. He can respect the dude for that, at least.

“Think a lot of the guts has been spilled out to the bottom of the bag. You gonna … preserve those, or…?” He enunciates carefully, not really comfortable with being as slack on his pronunciation as before. It’s a little tiring, but it’s better than Dave giving him those little glances. They feel mocking.

•

“Cool.” Dave knows he sounds pathetic but it would probably be better if he just focused on the task at hand instead of trying to save face. Not-Bro already knows damn well that he’s a wreck, it’s more a matter of how much of one he is. Probably. He should still minimize his shame while he gets through this whole production. Fuck, he _really_ does not want to cry again. The urge isn’t there at all, which feels weird considering his melt-down on the roof, but he’s going to leave that particular gift horse unbothered by dentistry for now.

“Nah, I’m only after a little bit. I think the intestines are little beyond saving at this point.” Taking a deep breath, Dave pulls on a surgical mask and adjusts his shades over them before opening the bag and peeling the plastic bag down from the top.

Mentally, he’s already dismissed the constant shifts in Dirk’s voice as another Bro oddity to get used to.

•

Dirk just nods in response, relieved that he won’t see the torso hanging out in green juice like a mauled Mewtwo in Dave’s room until he moves out. How would he even have moved it in that case? Moving from a place to another actually seems like a fucking wild concept, he ponders somewhat grimly.

Not sure if he should ask for a mask as well or if Dave’s just wearing it cause the body stinks, he just crouches a couple of feet away, arms crossed.

“Just say when.”

God, the rotten smell would churn in his gut if he even cared about that right now. The bag pooling at the bottom, the way the blood as most likely clotted… Well, he’s glad he won’t be dealing with that so Dave can keep it, cause that would have been enough to maybe make him gag.

And while he can’t help the subtle wrinkle on his nose, he does keep his cool. So cool, it’s actually like he’s just watching this all from a distance, which is incredibly relieving. It helps him remain calm, which he probably wouldn’t have otherwise if Dave would have chosen the time to tell him off again. Instead, he can focus on how grey the skin looks, and how smooth the cuts are.

•

Dave props it up some on a bag of ice, still partially in the bag so he doesn’t have to deal with all… that, in there. Instead he’s opening up the (needlessly) sterile packaging and slicing old-Bro open with a surprising amount of ease. He shouldn’t be so relaxed, and the strongest feeling he has absolutely should not be satisfaction at how cleanly the brand new blade moves through flesh. It’s no cleaver so it’s going to be slow work, but oddly, he finds he doesn’t mind right now. Good. He can guilt himself later.

It’s not long before he’s hitting bone. This is going to be unpleasant- he couldn’t get his hands on the right kind of saw or drill, so he’s improvising. Not like he needs to worry about it damaging anything but the hear. The hammer and chisel are pulled from the shopping bag as he glances at new-Bro. Should he give a warning? It should be fairly obvious what he’s intending to do when he lines things up, but it feels weird just to have all this observed before he actually needs a hand from young-Bro. “After I get this opened up.”

The first tap is too light, and takes a few tries, complete with nauseating sounds, to actually start having an effect. Once Dave has a feel for it though, he’s making quick work of it until Bro’s ribs are spreading open on their own. The smell is terrible and the sight certainly isn’t pleasant, but it’s easier than if the rest of the man had been left intact. “Okay, so. More like I need a spotter than you to literally get your hands in here. Don’t wanna give you gangrene. I’m angling for the heart here.”

•

Huh. Dave is strangely good at this. Seeing the chest spread open like some alien-movie prop is extremely off-putting. He kind of expects smoke or something, but it’s just… dead.

Ew.

“Ok.”

Uhh… So he’s supposed to be looking after the heart…? What about the flaps of flesh? This is not part of what he was supposed to do anymore.

“… So I’m just looking for the heart…?” Does his voice sound faint? He doesn’t feel faint at all, but it comes out more as a breath. Ew.

Despite that, he leans towards the corpse a little to get a closer look. It all looks a bit wrong and nothing like what it shows in tv-shows. Not as glossy, or glossy in all the wrong ways. And the shows never show the smell.

He doesn’t know if he regrets this or not. At least he’s helping…?

•

“Yeah, bodies sort of hold themselves open once you get rid of the sternum, least up here. Still wild as hell to actually experience though, instead of just watching someone talk about it.” Dave’s not too delicate getting things out of the way, aside from the bloated stomach he _very_ carefully nudges out of the way just in case. Then he’s cutting the major arteries and slicing through ligaments to get ready to actually extract the heart.

“No, I got it, I meant more like keep an eye out for like. If the other stuff gets too close, or if I need a second opinion on what part needs messing with to keep the stuff I want whole.” His voice is low and smooth as he focuses on the task at hand. “Or to make sure I don’t faint away if it turns out you didn’t already drain all the blood for me and I get squirted. Or cut myself on accident.” Doubtful that either of those would happen, but he’s not about to say he didn’t want to be alone.

•

“Mm.” Dirk lets himself be somewhat soothed by Dave’s focused voice, staring at the stomach a little. Probably full of gas, maybe even from the larger intestine. He’s not certain when he’s supposed to step in, but if he sees anything go to shit, he’ll intervene.

It’s probably like a machine. Parts layered on parts, a cover over a more delicate mechanism inside to fiddle with. Move away the parts carefully to not fuck them up later. Dave’s just digging for a cog, a pretty valuable one. It pumps oil to the relevant parts of the machine. Dave just wants to keep that, as a prize.

It’s fine, really.

•

Unlike the videos he watched, he doesn’t need to worry about things like keeping the patient alive; it makes things go by a lot quicker than if he’d had to think about things like bleeding or organ damage. It’s honestly shocking how easily he arrives at the point where he sets down the scalpel and pulls Bro’s heart free to cradle in his hands.

Dave lets out a shuddering sigh as he runs his thumb over the proof that his brother had indeed been nothing more than a man. Perfectly mortal. He still feels the jolting aftershocks of the sickening revelation yet again, having to blink rapidly to clear his eyes. Once more, he’s mildly disgusted with himself for not _really_ grieving for Bro. He won’t miss him, not for real. He’d miss the idea of him though, of having someone familiar around him. It’s not like he had any real friends aside from his long distance ones. He’d miss the idea that maybe, if he worked hard enough, he could make Bro proud, despite knowing it would likely have never been more than a fantasy.

He’s struck with the urge to kiss it, and he’s in enough of a haze of shattered hopes that he allows it to brush his mask before being tenderly placed into a jar just large enough to comfortably hold the organ. Preservative is poured in, then he’s manually pumping the stuff through it. It clouds the fluid, but he can replace it later. This is just to keep it from being in open air for too long before he gets the the injections.

“…okay. You can do your thing with the rest, I guess.” He runs a glove clad finger along the inside of a rib with more reverence than the man had ever deserved. A broken off bit is saved for later. Dave wants something tactile, though he wouldn’t have been able to say as much.

•

Watching Dave worship his alternate corpse is an experience. He feels almost, jealous. Okay, he’s jealous.

It’s pretty, in a completely macabre way, how gently he handles the heart; movements slow. For a moment, Dirk is sure Dave will eat it, but it only leaves the tiniest trace of blood over the mask before he’s moving it away. It leaves Dirk shaken. Dave feels powerful right now, like he’s a master of death, like he’s in control.

So Dirk only watches in rapt attention, wishing he could see Dave’s eyes as he worked. He takes a piece of rib, which Dirk finds especially poetic, and he’s shaken out of an equally poetic insight on religion when Dave interrupts his thoughts.

Right. The grunt work. Yay.

But he nods and stands up, head twisting to the side a couple of times. He cracks his neck a little, swallowing briefly and pulling the sides of the plastic together to avoid spillage. He only looks back to check on Dave a last time before sighing a little and flashstepping to the roof. He didn’t get the chemicals before, so he flashsteps back to get it; it’s just as nasty and foul-smelling as the last time.

He wonders if Dave got closure from that, if it gave him peace. What does that mean for Dirk? Probably nothing, really. It seems Dave has made quite a firm decision that this Dirk and him are two different people. He shouldn’t feel jealous of a dead, cold, heart, but…

Agh. If only Roxy would answer, he wouldn’t have to go through this dumb self-doubting phase.

•

Once new-Bro is out of sight, Dave closes up the jar. No need to let the fumes fill the place. Putting it on his desk, he shuts his door before focusing on the clean up. He’d made less of a mess than he’d expected, so it’s more a matter of dropping the blade in his sharps container before rolling up the tarp with his gloves and mask inside it. It’s shoved into a garbage bag, which is then taken down to the garbage that Dirk had shown him to. Not like he needs to worry about perfect disposal when the person that the blood would match to is still alive and well. Wouldn’t be unusual for him to toss out bloody garbage, for multiple reasons.

Back in the apartment, Dave slips into his room with a new pair of gloves and the window thrown wide open for him to work by, surrounded by fans. The door is left open this time, in case not-Bro wants to watch him wildly misuse his needles. He won’t risk any pockets of rot, every inch of Bro’s heart is _his_ , and he’s going to take care of it. It takes enough concentration that Dave doesn’t have to think too hard about the ramifications of, well, everything. Everything is too much to deal with.

He’s mumbling to himself rhythmically and utterly incoherently, head bobbing slightly.

•

Dirk’s first business is _getting clean_. The smell that had still not fully dissipated from his nostrils has been renewed with extra tax, and he’s sure the smell has sunk into the fabric of his shirt.

This time, it’s a more luxurious shower, set on burning hot. It feels wonderful, and he stands under it for probably way too long. It lets his muscles un-tense for a little while, and the warmth sinks into his bones slowly in a way he’s always appreciated. Lathering his hair and body soap, scrubbing his skin pink to get all the grime, blood and cold-sweat (why? He’s completely calm) off him, and when he gets out of the shower he feels a bit more grounded.

He’s about to hole up in his crawl-space again, but the door to Dave’s room is open and- he’s curious.

Dirk could have left when he saw Dave being busy with needles and his new prize, but his muttering is like a balm to his mind as always… Before he knows how or why, he’s sitting down outside the room, back against the wall right next to the door-opening. It’s selfish he’s sure, and probably all kinds of creepy to half-spy on his bro preserving his heart, but…

God, his lack of sleep is hitting him like a brick to the face. He barely has the cognition to wrap his arms around his knees before letting his eyes shut.

He falls a sleep like that, lulled to sleep by Dave’s rhythmic mumbling.

•

Once Dave is confident that nothing would go noticeably wrong with Bro’s heart for a good, long while, the full jar is stored in the darkness of his closet. He doesn’t want to let too much light on it, or feel like Bro is so close to him in his own space. Maybe he’d put him on a shelf later.

He steps out of his room to dispose of the second pair of gloves, but nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of new-Bro crouched there and ready to attack- he’s asleep. What the actual fuck. Maybe this dude makes a habit of passing out wherever but even then, _why was he by Dave’s door._ Maybe this was a bold intimidation tactic? Show off just how insanely confident he is in his abilities that he’s rubbing his sense of security in Dave’s face for having him stand by uselessly while Dave cut out old-Bro’s heart. Or maybe he’s narcoleptic. Jade’s fits cleared up a few years ago, but he’s still used to the idea of it.

Even still, he’s too afraid to actually touch the man. He’d probably smack Dave on reflex if nothing else. He should let him know he knows he’s there though, somehow.

Dave sets his spare pillow down by the man’s hip before taking a short, steamy shower. This time he uses Bro’s soap; this one wouldn’t know their routines well enough to notice, let alone protest it.

While the cleaning portion of the shower is brief, when Dave closes his eyes and leans against the tiles, he feels a sick heat pooling in his stomach at how… how new-Bro is asleep by his door, more vulnerable than usual even if Dave’s sure the man could still kick his ass in an instant, how the only intact remains of old-Bro solely belong to him, hidden away in his closet just for him to hold. It’s disgustingly wrong on every level, but fuck. The steam would have covered the lenses of any cameras by now.

Dave’s panting hard and his legs are threatening to buckle by the time he finishes and rinses the slick from his fingers and inner thighs. Ugh. He’s awful. It’s not his fault he’s kinda fucked up, but he didn’t have to do _that_. Drying off and dressing fully, Dave cautiously opens the bathroom door and peers down the hall to check if young-Bro is still where he left him.

•

Maybe it’s because one of the things that’s been on his mind is finally done, but the usual nightmares have fucked off for once, and he’s managed to enter REM with relative ease. He’s experienced sleeping through messages from his friends, though the occasions were few and far between since he’s a light sleeper by nature, but it does happen.

It seems this would be one of these times. Hair unstyled, shades half-up in his hair as his face is buried between his knees, his arms limply wrapped around them, his head cocked to the side as if listening to what’s going on in the other room. With his hair down, it’s actually pretty long, brushing over his his shoulders and covering his neck in soft blonde.

Had he known how he looked like, a young adult passed out in front of the bedroom, he’d probably die from mortification, but he’s blissfully unaware, his breathing deep, with even a small grunt of a snore sometimes slipping in at the end up a breath in.

His skin is still pink, but it’s fading now that he’d been out of the shower for a while- with skin sensitive like his, it’s easily irritated.

•

Fuck. Dave has the urge to close the door and get back in the shower, but he’s clean and tired, and… Oh he absolutely should _not_ make this that much weirder. It’s a terrible idea. Dave is only back in his room for a handful of moments.

He knows this is wrong, and worse, leaves evidence, but once he turns the flash off and adjusts the settings to silent, he’s snapping picture after picture of his young-older brother dozing on the floor. He’s beautiful and even his less masterfully composed shots reflect that. It’s hard to imagine he’d get another chance like this.

When he very nearly has the lens touch Dirk’s leg as he gets an upside down shot of his mostly hidden face, he manages to pull himself out of it. Looking back through his photos, he can see the time lapse change of the hue of his brother’s skin.

The door is shut with incredible care before he settles into bed to begin to let up his iron grip of what his friends know of the situation. Jade would probably believe him, but he doesn’t want to burden her. John wouldn’t, or would reasonably suggest he call the police on the known murderer in his house, but maybe Rose would have some insight. She understands his limits fairly well.

•

While the silent snapshow passes him by, the soft click of the door closing has Dirk sitting upright with a sharp breath through his nose, hands clapping down gently against the floor- or, one to the floor, another on a pillow.

Oh. Dave closed the door. He blushes unattractively, rubbing his eyes and dragging his hands down his face. Is he ever going to get more than half an hour sleep at a time? Even back home he’d managed a couple hours here and there, he’s sure.

Dirk looks down to the pillow by his hip, not sure why it’s there. Even if Dave laid it there for him, why would he care…? Maybe as a thanks for helping, or maybe even as a sarcastic jab. ‘You fucking creep, spying on me while I voodoo your heart. Please do sit on this pillow for maximum comfort.’. Dirk shakes his head and stands up, holding the pillow in one hand.

He could leave it on the sofa, but… It’s not one he’s seen laying about. It’s Dave’s.

Aware he should be mightily ashamed, he brings the pillow in close and takes a slow, deep yet tentative sniff of it. The scent makes his lower stomach warm, makes butterflies squirm. A scent definitely doesn’t have that kind of reaction; he’s pretty sure.

…

He brings the pillow up to his crawlspace. When he puts on a now customary older-Dave video on, he buries his nose into the pillow, imagining that Dave really being there, so close they would touch. His heart beats in his throat, And he reiterates to himself he should be horribly ashamed.

When he curls into his safe-space again, he curls around that pillow.

•

With his shades set aside, Dave tries not to keep glancing at the door and imagining that not-Bro is still sitting out there. He feels hyper aware of the presence of his camera on his desk. He should back the images up if he’s really worried. He doesn’t. It would feel more likely that this Bro _allowed_ him his perversions when he wakes up to find it intact and still stuffed with picture after picture of his only living family, as if it wasn’t grossly voyeuristic of him and every angle wasn’t laced with intimacy. Dave already knows he’s going to treasure them an inappropriate amount.

After staring at unanswered messages for a while, Dave clicks on a familiar purple username.

TG: alright so you know how i said that id tell you about whats been up later  
TG: of course you know youve probably been itching to explain the relativity of our perception of time so that you can check your watch two minutes later and confirm yeah its later now cough it up  
TG: but youd be right in this particular case  
TG: it is indeed later  
TG: bro killed himself  
TG: FUCK not like that i mean he didnt commit seppuku or whatever and i still got an alive bro on my hands  
TG: more like an alternate version warped into this dimension and murdered the shit out of him in ten seconds flat  
TG: he seems pretty okay about me even though he said he wasnt expecting me to  
TG: exist i guess

•

TT: This makes perfect sense, of course.  
TT: I should have called it from the moment you stopped writing us, nay, even before that.  
TT: Your unfortunately sex-themed sea-life rant should have told me all I needed to know of the predicament.  
TT: I am sorry to say that you most likely have gone batshit insane, Dave. My condolences.  
TT: I will call your local authorities right away, so you can get the help you deserve.

Chipped black nails pauses over the keys, and Rose considers her next words. Dave is opening up to her at last, and it would be unwise to discard his feelings and experiences as not real at all.

And that aside, she has this feeling. A feeling that what Dave is saying is true, as mad as it sounds. A flicker of something that makes her feel like it’s not as farfetched as it looks at first glance.

TT: Thank you for humouring me.  
TT: Now, I need to know more details.  
TT: A different ‘Bro’?  
TT: Are they identical in a physical sense?  
TT: Can you touch him?  
TT: Why would you not be in the universe he was from?  
TT: Did he know you at all?

It’s an interesting concept, alternate universes. It would be groundbreaking if such a thing were to be true.

And if Dave is just fucking with her, she’ll at least have a good philosophical debate about a hypothetical situation; almost as good, really.

Well, this is as good a start as any.

•

TG: if you mean firefighters to come investigate these inexplicably ice cold fires then yeah you should probably get a professional looking at the kind of nega heat I can lay down on the regular  
TG: yeah I can touch him  
TG: he’s identical but aged down some  
TG: he’s from an alternate future where he got yeeted 500 years post alien water apocalypse where he was on his own aside from time shenanigans on the internet  
TG: basically said he’s taking the wheel for my bro  
TG: I have no idea he said he didn’t expect me to be here so probably not on the knowing me front  
TG: hard to tell though  
TG: he was apparently raised by robots which makes the fact that he’s more emotive than og bro fucking ironic as hell  
TG: hold on i got a pic of the dude

As much as he’s loath to get up and approach the evidence, they can probably skip a fair amount of doubt if he gets over himself. The camera is hooked up to his computer, and a couple files are uploaded to Pesterchum.

TG: bro2.jpeg  
TG: bro2the second.jpeg

The first is a shot of Dirk’s overall form, the second a closer shot of how his sunglasses aren’t quite on his face any more.

TG: i think a lot of things in his universe was different  
TG: also he dissolved bros corpse like in breaking bad  
TG: smell o vision should not exist  
TT: I see.  
TT: First of all, my condolences. You did, after all, lose your brother for another one.  
TT: Feel free to tell me all about how that makes you feel at a later date. :)

Hmm. Vaguely threatening-looking with the smiley. She likes it.

TT: I am interested in the choice of words ‘didn’t expect you’. It could of course be that he did not expect another Strider in this universe, but a normal reaction would typically start with a ‘who are you?’.  
TT: Of course, Bro did seem to be anything but typical. Did he say something of the sort?  
TT: That he speaks at all is terribly interesting. Is he feral?

She taps her nails rhythmically on her desk, pausing a little to let all the information sink in. She’s of course read up on human psychology and how it handles isolation. Bro seems to be a perfect example to test some of her theories, see how they hold up. He’s a goldmine.

TT: I am going to ignore a robot upbringing for now, because there is a lot to unpack here.  
TT: How does he respond to touch? Does he seem interested in ‘skinship’?

Ok, slow down Ms. Psychologist. Bro can wait- Dave is the one freaking out.

TT: And how are you handling him?  
TT: It must be very off-putting seeing someone you know, but different.  
TT: Do you feel like you know him at all, as he’s technically your bro, or does he feel completely different?  
TT: Did you not consider calling the authorities to get this new Bro arrested for murder…?

•

Ughhhhh. Of course she would sense his anxiety about his feelings there. At least Dave has more than enough material to distract with.

TG: uh didnt really think about that i mean  
TG: i guess he might have known of me in an abstract way because he didnt seem super surprised about who i was but i definitely dont think he actually knew me  
TG: hes not feral  
TG: i mean hes fifty shades of fucking weird but i cant blame him for being unsure about how the proper walmart etiquette when a good portion of the human population that dont have the excuse of being the last man standing cant manage to get through it decently  
TG: im going to pretend you just said kinship because otherwise were veering into freudian territory and we both know what a nasty lawless place that is  
TG: he definitely seems more casual about stuff than original bro which makes sense considering hes never had to actually think about being cool  
TG: hes kind of a mess but also handling shit way way better than i would have in his position  
TG: theres bits and pieces that feel familiar but hes pretty foreign  
TG: he doesnt really want anything to do with me though  
TG: like hes more about fulfilling basic needs and shit than original flavor bro though but im pretty sure thats just because he never got tired of the actualities of raising someone and doesnt want me trying some dumb shit  
TG: ie going to authorities  
TG: yeah lalonde lemme roll up to the police station hey officers i know you probably personally hate my guts for parkour related crimes but i say a dude phase through time and space to do a self murder oh wait what are you doing why am i in this padded cell  
TG: also  
TG: hes pretty insanely fucking good at strifes  
TG: he finished bro off in no time and i dont think it was because he got the drop on him  
TG: hed have my head off before i even made it to the door  
TG: then id be the one in the bucket getting turned into human smoothie  
TG: hes taking over bros identity like its nothing  
TG: and even if he wouldnt stage my untimely death what am i supposed to do if he did somehow get arrested for murder and didnt slice and dice his way out  
TG: id rather deal with new edition felt asshole than get shoved into the foster system for power tripping creeps to get off on rifling through what meager remains a poor orphan has left from the clothes on his back  
TG: even those wouldnt be safe  
TG: plus im pretty sure the moment i get in state custody thats a back in the closet for you like hell are we letting you around sharp objects go be a homemaker before you do anything you regret missy  
TG: texas isnt the leading state in terms of  
TG: probably anything good  
TT: It is good to finally get a written confession to your parkour crimes.  
-TentacleTherapist has taken a screenshot-  
TT: It is also interesting that you deem any kind of physical intimacy as sexual. Teenage hormones, I suppose.  
TT: To get serious.  
TT: You are right: that is indeed a Strider. He looks remarkably like you, and your deceased Bro.  
TT: I am intrigued by the intimacy of these photos. I believe you said once that you have ‘never seen bro sleep like ever it’s creepy’.  
TT: To quote.  
TT: When it comes to the po-po as you like to call them, I am sure they would take you seriously if you brought them evidence. A photo would most likely suffice.  
TT: It seems that is not your goal though, and I will not blame victims for not thinking straight.  
TT: Contain your fake-ironic-gay-jokes to yourself please  
TT: Are you safe?  
TT: That is to say, I know you and Bro shared the dubious hobby of strifing with actual swords, and I am wondering if that is something this new Bro seems to do as well?  
TT: Has he hurt you?  
TT: He is a murderer, and he is living with you. I can only imagine the stress you must be feeling at this moment.

Rose shudders a little, biting her lips before continuing.

TT: You are always welcome to stay at my place, Dave. You know that.  
TT: Or Jade or John. We’re your friends.  
TT: You only have two years until you can move out for good, but you can always leave early and get a headstart at life without Bro.  
TT: I know you considered it for a while. This escalation seems to be a good time to decide as any, if you ask me.

•

It hadn’t occurred to him that he could stay with anyone else, not in a serious capacity. They’re across the country after all. Who hasn’t fantasized about running off to start a new life? Then again, he could save up for a few weeks and take off on a long haul bus ride with his backpack stuffed full.

TG: nice try but a confession under duress is suspect at best  
TG: that will never fly in court  
TG: its not like i have any photographic evidence that couldnt be brushed off as flattering lighting and good skincare  
TG: if they did a dna or fingerprint test its pretty obvious who they would believe  
TG: because i want you to consider  
TG: if a southern cop sees me try to claim that a doppelganger has replaced my brother and hes actually a stone cold killer  
TG: do you really think that any amount of evidence would work in my favor  
TG: to answer your question though  
TG: no fucking clue  
TG: hes a lot more emotional than old bro so i guess maybe i need to wait for him to level out after everything  
TG: he hasnt had time to serve my ass up to me on a silver platter just yet  
TG: hes had his hands full with cracking into bros accounts and getting familiar with the layout of the place  
TG: ill wait it out for now  
TG: hes giving me a weekly allowance so i can still make progress on that front while i drag my feet

Dave neatly skirts around reacting to the accusations of intimacy.

•

Rose sighs a little and leans back into her chair. How typical of Dave to put himself in danger just because he doesn’t know what will happen otherwise.

TT: Darn it. Foiled again.  
TT: Well… Waiting for the other shoe to drop has never been my favourite tactic, but I see where you’re coming from.  
TT: You said he doesn’t want to do anything with you earlier, but now you’re saying he’s more emotionally open and he’s giving you an allowance.  
TT: Do you think he feels guilt for killing his alternate and is trying to quell his guilt by giving you money?  
TT: It seems a bit odd.

A little pause as she ponders. Honestly, if this Bro had deemed it fit, or even been unstable enough, he could have disposed of Dave, by death or eviction both with minimal personal consequence.

TT: The fact that he does not know you but does not evict you points to that he’s not rejecting you. That much seems clear to me.  
TT: I do not know what he _wants_ from you, so I’m sorry I can’t help you there…  
TT: What do you want from you staying there? If this Bro is just as volatile and unreadable as the previous one, staying seems dangerous.  
TT: Money is good to have, but at the cost of your physical and mental wellbeing it’s nothing, I assure you.

She can hear a drunk giggle from downstairs and rolls her eyes. Seems like Mother is up for the second time today.

TT: I just want to see you safe. We did promise to meet up when we graduate high school, and you know I loathe to change my schedule.

•

Dave’s lips twitch downwards at the corners.

TG: no i dont think he gives a shit about that  
TG: more like hes not trying to cause waves this early on and getting rid of me in any capacity would draw attention  
TG: and he doesnt seem to understand the actual costs of things so i think he just tossed what he thinks is lunch money at me so i wouldnt hound him for anything myself later  
TG: its not that hes open its more like hes blatantly a raw nerve if he so much as steps outside  
TG: doesnt seem like he can help it  
TG: and id say its more of a bribe to shove off than a proper allowance but hell ill take it

What does he want. To cling to some of his old life? It wasn’t perfect, but it was his. He had plans. (Sort of.) New-Bro doesn’t get to take that from him and he sure doesn’t want to step into the completely unknown when he can just tough it out like a big boy.

TG: ill adjust  
TG: i think so long as i can get used to his particular brand of fucking weird ill be able to get through it just fine  
TG: he was sleeping outside my door  
TG: so obviously i had to make sure i wasnt hallucinating  
TG: also he made socks out of smuppets  
TT: I see…

A small sound grinds out of her, and she furrows her brows and leans her chin on her hand. It’s all very _odd_.

While she won’t say Dave is _wrong_ , Rose ponders at how easy it would be to hide that Dave was dead. It’s even odder that Dave _wants_ to stay, though if she knows Dave right, his mind is made for good on the matter, so trying to tell him otherwise will only cement him further in his choice.

He’s stubborn in the oddest of places, she’s found.

TT: It makes sense that he’d make socks with the fabric he had available, as disgusting as that is.  
TT: Why would be sleep outside your door?? On the floor?  
TT: Also an anomaly, I presume.  
TT: Thank you for sharing this with me, Dave. This is truly a braintwister.  
TT: What do you mean with ‘adjusting’ to it, though?  
TT: Are you going to adjust to his oddities and not give any input into what you feel about them?  
TT: I understand that your Bro that has passed away was extremely unapproachable, but you did have set rules; that is not the case here.  
TT: You could use this chance to negotiate terms that you previously couldn’t, or at least get an understanding of what rules this Bro is going after.  
TT: If you see that the conversation is turning sour I would suggest retreating of course. I don’t know how volatile the man is.  
TT: But simply following the tune to a man who’s been isolated at sea for god knows how long seems unwise.  
TT: Don’t you want to know more?  
TG: of course i want to know more are you kidding theres so fucking much to unravel  
TG: i think he might be narcoleptic because he just passed out on the couch when i tried talking to him  
TG: didnt last very long but you know how it is  
TG: and yeah it was on the floor i dont know what he was trying to do there considering he knows where the crawlspace is and took to that pretty easily  
TG: im sorely tempted to set the first rule as no felt socks  
TG: just throw those oldies out the window to let the winds of fate decide which dump they end up in  
TG: im already getting plenty here im not about to risk ruining that  
TG: hes not totally inflexible or else he would have combusted the sixth time he bumped into someone with his cart at walmart  
TG: besides when i asked what he wanted he shut it down and made it pretty clear it wasnt anything to do with me at least  
TG: basically told me to fuck off and mind my own business when you boiled it down

•

Right. Kind of a dumb question, really.

TT: I’m not sure I do know how that is, actually.

She twitches a smile at the sock-comment.

TT: That seems to have been quite a heated discussion…?  
TT: Would you mind running me through it? I could see if I could gauge out something you were unable to?

She wonders if it’s anything like her and Mother’s fights.

•

TG: come on dont play shy you know how jade used to get  
TG: not sure what the point of trotting it out for you is  
TG: he confirmed bro slash him are genetically the sperm donor then said how he wishes that wasnt the case  
TG: which not that much of a surprise but still  
TG: then he was all “our interests do not align” and told me to do my own thing and stop trying to pester him

Dave drags a hand down his face.

TG: probably didnt help that i was getting up in his space right before  
TG: kinda surprised he didnt sock me in the jaw for it but i think he was still kinda sleepy and couldnt be assed to  
TG: should probably be grateful that theres already been upgrades from original bro but like i said  
TG: just need to get used to it  
TT: I suppose you are right.  
TT: Have you experienced narcolepsy? Maybe it’s in the family.  
TT: I’m sorry to hear he disowned you. I don’t know what to say to that.  
TT: I won’t say this doesn’t smell like a misunderstanding, but then I wasn’t there and can’t tell for sure.  
TT: All I know is that most misunderstandings come from moments where emotions are high and the subject of discussion is delicate.  
TT: There is probably a name for that phenomenon, had I been bothered to google it.

A thoughtful hum.

TT: Still, I wouldn’t just lie down and take whatever changes this new Bro instates.  
TT: Why not try to twist it to your advantage? Most likely he won’t even notice body-language cues.  
TT: Actually, did you know there was a study here-…

And off Rose goes, rattling off facts about being brought up in isolation and the cases found around the world. It’s also a distraction tactic, since it seems Dave was reaching for his last straws.

•

TG: nope  
TG: trust me it was pretty clear hes been avoiding me pretty hardcore short of getting rid of the rest of bros body

It would be nice if it was just some big misunderstanding though. Dave has serious doubts about that but it probably wouldn’t hurt that much to imagine. Maybe some greater truth would be revealed and it would explain everything, including why the hell new-Bro hadn’t commented on him getting handsy, or the way he’d been (and might still be) outside his door. It makes him feel a little jittery before he drags himself back to reality.

TG: ill see what i can do with the twisting though

The tangent is welcome. Dave goes with it with and inserts a few choice quips, willfully misinterpreting things to poke fun at the researchers. He starts a ramble about the intrinsic gayness of pirates at sea leading to the legality of “it’s not gay if it’s on a boat” being somewhat legitimate for a time. It feels good to talk like normal.

Eventually, it’s time for him to sleep and he gives rose a quick goodbye before he’s drifting off. His dreams are strange and he isn’t sure if it matters whether it’s new or old Bro holding him down. The blood on the man’s hands is cool and tacky, but he doesn’t feel unclean when he wakes up a little too early.

Dave’s stomach rumbles and he nearly goes for some crackers, but… hot food early in the morning sounds like heaven, so he’s a lot more willing to hazard a look into the dark hall. He can’t see much. Pushing his shades up, he hesitantly steps out of his room and leaves the door slightly ajar in case he needs to make a quick return from his quest for another can of soup.


End file.
